Puzzles unearthed in the dig we found,
Pottery and shards all about,
Giving a breath and a shout,
While my mind was spellbound.
Our guess of age was not old enough,
More centuries added to our tally,
And, added energy for a rally.
Changing views make some folks gruff.
The mound—the dig a vast tel,
Within garden growing a select tree,
The denizens exited, because they fell.
Another site near the sea,
Its citizens wander; there’s no cartel.
We’ll need a new date bce.
Francis Conlon is a retired and recovering teacher. For the past 20 years, he has worked as a seasonal river ranger and boat inspector at Yampa River State Park in northwest Colorado. He has published in the local Valley Voice and in Westward Quarterly. He currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.