They held camp upon a hill,
Down they went, taken in by the thrill.
Through the mists of time,
To the treasure within the slime.
Hordes of enemies stood in their way,
Turf, Iron pan, and clay.
As they cut and cleaved,
Their enemies grieved.
Not satisfied with the kill,
They kept fighting, to find their fill.
Searching amongst grime,
Looking for a stime,
Of a cache as it lay,
Hidden from the sight of day.
From history, the store is retrieved,
They leave, with their goal achieved.