In the darkness of a sepulcher
beneath the shifting sands,
the mummy stirs within its sheath
of rotten linen bands.
Inside its stone sarcophagus
beneath the pyramid,
it moves its cloth-enshrouded hands
and pushes back the lid.
It arises in that chamber
where no living thing has stepped,
in that chamber chill and airless
where for centuries it has slept,
then it stumbles through the mazes
of the labyrinthine halls,
and with powers supernatural
beats down the earthen walls.
Now it walks the scorching desert
all its being filled with rage,
ancient rage it’s borne for eons
since a dim primordial age,
and it staggers blindly onward,
mud-encrusted, caked with clay,
and it permeates the desert
with the stench of foul decay.
Now it must unleash its fury,
spew the venom of its wrath,
and woe to those poor souls who cross
the mummy’s mindless path,
for the mummy will destroy them,
they will perish, wracked with pain.
There is terror in the desert
for the mummy walks again.
—from The Headless Horseman Rides Tonight - More Poems to Trouble Your Sleep by Jack Prelutsky, illustrated by Arnold Lobel
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