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
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