Of old books unread

Those words unsaid

Dusty stairs, forgotten rooms

Unheeded places, lonely tombs

This is where dead men lay

Their words gone, no more to say

Bones will crumble and bodies rot

Ghosts will stay more oft than not

Once a fire in a grate now cold

A place once new has become so old

No candles burn, nor ashes fall

A rusting sword upon the wall

Motes of dust hang in the air

Yet no one there to stand and stare

No one there to see the ivy green

Or to tell of the beauty they have seen

Of creepers growing in halls of stone

And roses blooming around dead bones

Do not weep for those that die

They no longer care that you cry

Just remember all their words unread