A lowly man lays cold and dead,
lying upon an earthly bed,

A man whose legends were engraved in stone,
his ramshackle chair faintly resembling his rightful throne,
and now all that remains is dust and a pile of brittle bones,

Watch as the elements whittle his legacy away,
a sight as haunting as the lapse of December and May,
How the words fade with each passing day.
As the earth consumes, leaving the man to rot and decay.

His legacy, threatened by the cruel earth,
for ruthless time will inevitably destroy the man's worth,
The man's years and deeds bound to be undone,
by the descent of the mourning sun.

The menacing earth grasping the last of his warmth.
I peered back,
and saw a man,
lying peacefully upon his earthly bed.
Here lies a man, cold and dead ...