Darkness crept on us as we descended into the bowels of the earth.
Slowly, gently, patiently we progressed to the underworld.
A fading light, the aroma of excrement permeated our senses.
The odor would pass as the dankness of the humid void became our burden.
The walls, a sculpted relief, in praise of the Mother of the Earth.
It was gradual work by the water nymphs with Her command.
"Gia what would you have us create?"
A liquid hammer and chisel birthed great tapestries.
Figures had been constructed; the absolute grotesque and the sublime heroes of stone.
Inside the mountain, Her temple rests.
Great halls and colonnades
Chambers built for kings and queens,
Have we found thee at last, Oh Xanadu?