An ode to that wonderful monumental lion on the banks of the river Struma

Ancient echo of Alexander’s time,
tomb-guarder of his warrior brave,
thence misplaced, displaced by thoughtless crime
and so divided, lost in unmarked grave.
Until new strife brings you again to light,
awakening you from bi-millennial snooze,
exposing scattered remnants of your plight,
rudely unearthing the site of your abuse.

Restored afresh to leonine glory
sejant you pose eyeing your small domain,
statue smiling in memento mori,
repository of history arcane.

Guard still your bridge from Struma’s southern shore
for all is by-passed save your mighty roar.