We worked through the sun, and the rain,
through our aches and pains,
And by way of our toil,
Broke rock, stripped soil.
But soon we felt heroic,
For we had reached angelic anaerobic.
No one could remain stoic,
Especially those, who are Osmophobic.
Because underneath our feet,
Lay a treasure deep.
Such as coins of bronze,
Engraved with the faces of icons,
Or shoes made of leather,
Protected from the weather.
Each giving a look into the past,
A memory that will forever last.