Under the Sycamore Maple

Re glared harshly
At the brilliant sand and stone
Shining brightly ‘cross the land
Upon that grieving morn.
The acacia’s white blossoms
Gave way to red
As I journeyed at last
Toward the western valley.
Upon the Nile lotus laid
With wilting petals trailing,
Yearning for eternal rest
Beside the crocodile.
The dreary barge sailed along
‘Gainst the currents to the shore,
Past the heron and the ibis
And the date palm’s cooling shade.
The slow procession, with steady drums
And kind and cunning minds alike,
Paid tribute to the sun god
And his journey through the sky.
At long last we came to rest
Beside my lonely tomb.
O’er three thousand years of solitude
Awaited me therein.
Scarabs began their sacred rights
And Thoth took note of all,
Recording in his holy texts
The Nile’s yearly floods.
Amongst my many treasures,
‘Tween rubies, gold, and all,
I laid in restless waiting
For the darkness to end.
One day a light appeared,
Flickering on corridor walls,
Guiding through the shadows
A host of many men.
They raided my possessions,
Sifted through the gold,
Transported my body
To a far away land.
Now I lay here,
A ghastly vision,
Framed by unreflective glass,
The object of attention
So different from the past.
I am used to staring.
I always was,
But from eyes which held me
With respect and fear,
Not from those who view me
As a pointless relic,
An ancient artifact,
Something from a time long past.
I listen to the chatter
Of the nameless watchers
As they gossip about me,
Never guessing I hear them.
But what am I to do?
My rule has long since ended.
I can control them no more
Than I can the gods.
This degradation I endure
From their curiosity,
From their simple morbid wonder,
Is so belittling,
So unfitting of a Pharaoh.