by Nick Gisburne
I must confess that you are not alone
For those who see such wonders on display
Routinely find their senses overthrown
Though few may find the will to walk away
The science, lost, forgotten, still survives
An ancient art, too primitive to date
The thrill as each new specimen arrives
Is worth, beyond comparison, the wait
Each human head, upon its plinth of rock
Exquisitely preserved within these vaults
Is severed, cleanly, quickly, on the block
And mummified with oils and secret salts
There is no finer archivist than I
Please take a lasting look, before you die
