Rest Of The Ancients Poem by Atticus Mortimer

He sits among the ruins,
an ancient city long since forgotten,
He closes his eyes,
imagining the city in it's prime,
people praying at the alters,
a baby crying in its mother's cradled arms,
men hard at work in sweltering forges,
He hears them,
the scent of fresh bread wafts into his nose,
a bakery filled with warm bread,
this dead city is alive once more,
and then,
He opens his eyes,
it has been but only a second,
He stands,
bowing to the ruins of these glorious peoples,
leaving the ancient to their rest.