In dusty tomes and yellowed pages,
Lies the echoes of a bygone age,
The words of poets long since passed,
Whose verses still have power to enrage.
Their souls, immortalized in ink,
Still speak to us from silent graves,
Their thoughts and feelings, raw and real,
Echo through the ages like waves.
Their words, a testament to the human heart,
A mirror of our own deepest fears,
Their poetry a balm for troubled souls,
A solace in a world that's unclear.
So let us honor these dead poets' art,
Let their words continue to inspire,
For in their poetry we find a light,
A beacon in the darkness of despair.
