This ancient city of myths, kings and palaces calls across the Greek winds.
The lion's gate welcomes me with power, a roaring voice from the growling past.
My eyes, like the guard at the gates, gaze down into the hills-
spotting all who approach my city.
Tired and tiered bricks cling to the hills; frozen pieces of past glory stuck in time.
Deep down into the bee nest tombs of darkness we descend,
cold air like ghosts, whisper in the dark.
Sleep, oh great Agamemnon, sleep: your bed the mountains of Greece,
as you dream of Olympus.
Leaving Mycenae for Nafplio
Climbing into the mountains,
shouting to Zeus: This is GREECE!
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