The event that I chose for my poem was the "Hacienda del Abra." It was a period of time in

the Paleoindian Era in which the first human tribes were formed in the history of Colombia. They

were situated in the Savanna of Bogotá after the temperatures rose and the savanna filled up with

water. My perspective is from the entire tribe. I chose this perspective because this was a couple

thousand years ago and one person wouldn't have lived that much. This event is important to

Colombian history because it is the first sign of organization and human settlements in the country,

and they were the origin of the first tribes that represented the very own Colombian culture before it

was adapted by the Spanish. I wrote this poem in couplets, a rhyme scheme in which every pair of

sentences rhyme, and it is separated in two line stanzas.

 

 

"The Valley that Filled Up with Water"

At first, everything was cold.

A snow capped mountain, with icy flowers and animals who casually strolled.

But then, as temperature rose we marched,

Women and Children, Hunters and Gatherers through bushes that branched.

We looked upon the melted plain, a hole, slowly filling up with water.

And the flowers Changed, and the buds opened, and the weather got hotter.

A forest grew. Earth thawed. Gentle Giants filled up the valley.

Fruit and Animals of all kinds appeared, a feast as we haven't seen in years, it was many.

The high mountains, rocks, rose up from the lake, their streams getting bigger and bigger.

the huge rocks providing shelter from the floods sent by the angry gods, of this hole diggers.

Then we evolved. Our jaws changed. Smaller and smaller, slender and quiet.

The plants grew. Harvest flourished. Corn and Potatoes, Yuca and other foods, a change of diet.

Shelters were built. Wooden roofs to Log walls. Standing on stilts.

Light poured in from the windows and we slept with kilts.

Meat was good. It always has been. Huge animals with lots of fur and juicy meat.

It cooked well and fed our men for them to become strong and eat.

At fist we were many, group after group slowly pouring in into the forest.

A stone bowl, about to overflow, and when it did, there was no turning back, this wasn't open for tourists.

Our leader sent us. Hundreds after Hundreds, blood poured and screams rattled the plain.

Arrows flew and spears stabbed. Bodies fell, the last echoes of battles left the air like a dangling chain.

We had won. The bowl was almost empty. And as the sun set, we remembered this day for the rest of our lives.

How it was our job to clear the valley and bring prosperity again, even using knives.