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Mine of Ivory Skulls
Seek through putrid, rotting decay,
Like a spoiled oyster’s pile,
Pearls rain as drops of May,
The miner digs his lonely isle.
Solely he as none other should dare,
A shaft of blood and bones alike,
The miner seeks a skull so rare,
Pass a hundred days without a strike.
But one dismal dusk,
The pickaxe did ring a tune,
Of sounding ancient tusk,
And gleaming by the moon.
The skull of ivory was found,
A head shrouded in fame,
It was lifted slowly from the ground,
But with it came no man’s name.
This man was stunning,
His teeth untouched by grime,
A mind that was always running,
But his life faded into time.
He is now a common attraction to all,
A miner reaps his fortunes dealt,
As his soul rests beneath Senegal,
This head stands with a leopard’s pelt.
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