Beneath the flesh, a secret dwells, In hidden chambers where truth compels. Skeletons dance in closets deep, Guarding tales that their secrets keep.
Bony frames, a silent display, Of stories hidden from light of day. Whispers of the past they hold, A tale of lives, both young and old.
With sockets empty, they seem to stare, At the world's secrets, both foul and fair. A quiet witness to history's grace, In the shadows, they find their place.
But skeletons aren't just tales of woe, They're the structures on which life does grow. A framework strong, both tough and true, Supporting life's journey, through and through.
In their bones, a history lies, A map of years beneath the skies. So let the skeletons be revealed, For in their stories, truths are sealed.
Beneath the skin, beyond the eyes, The skeleton's tale never truly dies. A reminder that life's hidden core, Holds the secrets of what came before.
