In ancient tombs where pharaohs rest,
Lies a poem that speaks of the dead,
Etched in stone, it tells their tale,
Of kings and queens, now turned to pale.

The words they whisper, soft and slow,
Echo through the halls below,
Of grandeur, power, and might,
All vanished in the endless night.

The poem speaks of a life once lived,
Of triumphs, glories, and achievements,
But all of that is now long gone,
And all that's left is a solemn song.

In the shadows, the dead lie still,
Their spirits gone, their bodies nil,
And in their place, a poem remains,
To tell their story, and ease their pains.

The verses speak of a life well spent,
Of battles fought, and kingdoms bent,
Of love, of loss, of hope, of pain,
Of joy, of sorrow, and of gain.

The poem speaks of a time long past,
Of treasures lost, and fortunes amassed,
Of glory fading, and fame gone by,
Of empires crumbling, and rulers that die.

Yet, in the words that echo through,
There is a message, bright and true,
That all that we do in life will fade,
But our legacy, in stone, will be laid.

For even when we're gone and dead,
Our stories will live on instead,
In poems, songs, and tales untold,
For generations to come, to behold.

So let us live our lives with care,
And leave a legacy, bright and fair,
That when we're gone, and laid to rest,
Our deeds, will tell our best.