There was a mound on the bay…
A sacred holy place the elders would say.
Over countless years souls were buried there
Their bodies and possessions placed there with great care.
Trinkets and tokens to help with the journey
As if to help, a spiritual gurney.
Centuries past the mound grew higher,
The sacred light burned all the brighter.
The mound on the bay was a peaceful place.
The moon would gleam in just the right space.
The blue-green water would glisten
The wind would call, you had to listen.
The deep blue sky alive with flight
Made it all the more a magical sight.
From hundreds of miles the worshipers came
Never again would their lives be the same.
Their lives a tradition of earthly cultures
They worshipped nature, but hated the vultures.
Raptors of the dead and spirit snatchers
Their nests, evil spirit hatchers.
The vultures, it was believed , would fly on high
Circling and intercepting the sprits rise to the sky.
Once accomplished they would swoop down
And feast upon the remains that could be found.
A sacred holy place the elders would say.
Over countless years souls were buried there
Their bodies and possessions placed there with great care.
Trinkets and tokens to help with the journey
As if to help, a spiritual gurney.
Centuries past the mound grew higher,
The sacred light burned all the brighter.
The mound on the bay was a peaceful place.
The moon would gleam in just the right space.
The blue-green water would glisten
The wind would call, you had to listen.
The deep blue sky alive with flight
Made it all the more a magical sight.
From hundreds of miles the worshipers came
Never again would their lives be the same.
Their lives a tradition of earthly cultures
They worshipped nature, but hated the vultures.
Raptors of the dead and spirit snatchers
Their nests, evil spirit hatchers.
The vultures, it was believed , would fly on high
Circling and intercepting the sprits rise to the sky.
Once accomplished they would swoop down
And feast upon the remains that could be found.
A buried and scented body, they couldn’t see it that way
Nor would the death be carried on the wind.
These steps however, still did not protect the spirit bend.
The spirit bend was the souls dance through the sky
With little or no protection from vultures on high.
Unless, the burial took place with eagles near by.
This alone would make the vultures scatter
Especially when they heard the eagles cry.
The mound people, deep in tradition,
Believed whatever the elders would say.
And the elders believed in important burials
Of chiefs, holy men, great warriors and hunters
Only when the eagles came to the bay.
Circling the heavens, protecting the good spirits
Occasionally screeching and diving, the elders loved to hear it.
And the vultures were nowhere to be found
Ensuring safe passage of the spirit to the Great Round.
Now as time went on times would change
The mound people, like the buffalo, lost their range.
The great mound stood dormant,
No longer heavens door mat.
Not much later the mound was leveled
So new men could build, with machines they shoveled.
All flattened, no longer was the mound on the bay.
The living who knew, would for new spirits pray.
The bay waters now a dark concoction
Stained with the colors of growth and production.
The eagles and other creatures all gone and forgotten
Except for the vultures, all else is rotten.
A convention center now stands
Where once thousands held hands.
Strange to think two things remain
And two things are gone, along with the Indians rein.
No longer is the mound, or the eagles cry,
Still the gathering of people, still the vultures on high,
Feasting on spirits as they pass by.
So when you see the vultures circling downtown Tampa Bay…
Think of what the mound elders would say.
Perhaps they would take solace in knowing
The destructive man’s spirit in heaven…
Will never be showing.
(c) Bryan A. Stross 1991
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