The Cold Wind

Over the sea, under a stone,

Lies a pile of ancient bones.

Whose they are, no one knows.

No one caring, the cold wind blows.

It shrieks. It screams. The cold wind cries,

Telling all of whose bones lie

Beneath the slab, the frigid stone.

No one listens to the cold wind moan.

Truly do they wish to hear?

Or is it death that they do fear?

They do not listen for they dread

The day that others soon will tread

Upon their own a'cursed stone,

And no one will listen to the cold wind moan.