Good Luck Treasure Hunters!
Oh Columbia! The fair, personified,
Where the Broad, Saluda, and Congaree collide;
My treasure I buried near DeSoto’s Trail,
In deep shadows of a Genoese Nightingale.
Your power generates an awe profound,
Below where indentured Eire’s were bound;
You must turn your back on Proverbs three and six,
And my loot is a distance from your fingertips.
But twelve by two-five is certainly key,
To place you in the Vicinity;
It’s a bizarre place for one to discern,
Where 22 rusted wagon wheels once turned.
A place where even cats can learn to fetch,
And dogs drink in troughs in this homestretch;
Where nearby fish fly up through the air,
And dark-winged birds live in lofts without care.
“X” marks the spot if you decipher the clues,
Across the horizon in our forefather’s views;
But you must look afar to see very close,
My treasure will focus right under your nose.
From the blue of grayed Saints deep in their prayer,
To the yellow-hued Eagles over green fields in air;
From an alligator splayed across an Oaken wood,
To lions spitting ropes as Humanely they should.
Only there shall you look, for all to be clear,
You’re journey at end, and treasure is near;
Sixty paces West of nightingale’s home,
Over a hill through a forest you’ll roam.
Between graying rock and a blaze of the cross,
You’ll find it quite shallow with light sandy toss;
But give me a call after finding my stash,
To let others know to stop searching for cash!