So many times I've heard your work,
Yet your face was never shown,
You chose to stay invisible,
Your name is still unknown.

I wonder what you'd say today,
That's if you're still around,
Of the anemic lives we lead till death,
Upon the barren ground.

Beside your grave, ignored and wild,
Lays enervated leaves,
The words engraved against bleached stone,
Still no body can see.

I'll hear that unforgotten sound,
There's nothing I can do,
I vow I shall not rest until,
The day that I find you.
****************************************************************************

A/N: This goes out to every anonymous writer, whose masterpieces were never
credited by name. It almost makes me feel sad. Review if you like, this was
just a kind of spur of the moment thing.