the quest for glory and fame was taunting

my task seemed very daunting

hunting for a place so haunting

 

trekking through the forest

the birds singing a melodious chorus

the thick trees and vines so laborious  

 

macheting the branches

while taking risky chances

and feigning manly stances

 

I stumbled upon an ancient city in ruin

I could almost hear the ghosts a booin

the gnats were on my flesh a chewin

 

when the sun started to fall

I could hear the goodnight squawk of a McCaw

causing my waning spirits to stall

 

now I could hear some wild chanting

my oath to find it I was recanting

the exertion brought about some panting

 

I entered a clearing

and saw something endearing

exotic dancing to the music I was hearing

 

loud drums beating

horn sounds fleeting

the whole tribe was meeting

 

the one and only Rogadoo tribe

gyrating wildly with a hand jive

the whole group moving to the same vibe

doing a ghost dance in the moon light 

should I stay or maybe take flight

I just stared with genuine delight 

 

a never before seen tribe hundreds of years old

It don’t exist I had been told

grabbing my camera for a picture worth gold

 

turning to me they smiled, yet they had nothing to say

like willow wisps in the wind, they all faded away

sadly nobody believes me, to this very day