This is a story in the form of a poem (like the odyssey) that goes through the life of a tribe from beginning to end.

First we eight set off,
To find some more land,
Until we get shipwrecked,
With no guiding hand,

On the North shore we must,
Start a new tribe,
So first we make fire,
Which gives a good vibe,

Then we discover in,
This ancient city,
A royal robe hanging,
Just hanging; a pity,

We all try it on but,
It only fits one,
Jazzo is our new chief,
Won't that be fun,

We plant a seed that will,
Give us some food,
But then we find bees that are,
In a bad mood,

We light some torches and,
Scare them away,
Now we have honey to,
Harvest today,

The tree is now grown but the,
Honey is gone,
We must find more food or we,
Will not live on,

So scientists research and,
Builders, they build,
Repairing a rain lift,
Our people are skilled,

We now have an orchard,
Of three happy trees,
The alchemy lab has been,
Fixed with much ease,

We've chosen the faction of,
Nature to study,
But food is still scarce and,
Some noses are bloody,

So we've trained a doctor,
For everyone's sake,
And found a new herb so,
They're potions to make,

With very much luck we have,
Found a cool brew,
That we took to the ocean,
But really, who knew,

That the potion would make,
All the sharks go away,
We can now fish this is,
One happy day,

After more alchemy,
We found a key,
That had been up high even,
Higher than a tree,

But that jumpy potion,
Allowed us to get,
A diamond-shaped key,
Without much of a sweat,

The fire is out,
But there in the pit,
Is another key that's so hot,
It's almost lit,

But with water that's carried,
From the waterfall,
Now in the door,
The key stands proud and tall,

We've repaired the bath and,
The rubble we'll clear,
The Roster of the Dead,
We discovered here,

Now we have learned how to,
Make the sky rain,
Whenever we want without,
Going insane,

We push the statue up,
Onto the path,
Then we'll enjoy,
Our new herbal bath,

The statue's repaired and,
Beneath in the leaves,
We've found a rough pearl that our,
Leader believes,

We should shape and then polish,
And take to the sea,
To give to the oyster to,
Get the last key,

Now the door's open and,
We go inside,
There is a large disk which we,
Push to one side,

And as the sun hits it,
Two ghosts appear,
To tell us what we have been,
Waiting to hear,

They tell us the story of,
How this great city,
Was destroyed and abandoned,
Which is quite a pity,

And then the ghosts thank us,
For helping rebuild,
This old secret city,
They're dreams are fulfilled,

And this is the end of,
The Jazzo Tribe's story,
But 'tis not the end of the,
Tribe in its glory,

And others shall live on,
To recite the tale,
Of the Tribe Jazzo which,
Never did fail.

(You see, Rockmower isn't the only poet on these boards BTW, this took a good hour-and-a-half to write. And no false rhymes too!)

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