The old one,
Resting on the sand for 1,200 years, gazes
Up through the murk,
At a world that
Does not know him, or care.

“I was a pharaoh … but what was my name?”
And so all greatness is forgotten.

Fish swim by, the sun’s brightness rolls by overhead,
Day after day,

The dead pharaoh lies invisible on the sand,
Watching memory flee with the tides.


©Hemmingplay2014
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