Odoacer
A #poetry thread
i.
Once the Seven Hills saw
the grim Goths at the gates,
boy Augustulus’ laws
faded with the Fates.
Then the sky’s sundial spun
for fifteen hundred years
and a new Rome had sprung
by banks of black Remus’ tears.
In fair Mundus Novus
by seven swampy hills,
a new magnum opus
made real by ink and quill.
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