Even The Stones At Long Last Die

It's just a white stone, In a jungle of white stones. In the shade of the oaks, Thick with Spanish Moss. Lichen and algae grow on it, Thick as flies. Smaller fragments, Of the stone, Lie on the unkempt ground. Overgrown, With all kinds of weeds, And grass. An old stone, Weathered through the years, Slowly dying. Just like the resident, That lies below did. So many untold years before. The name on the stone, Is no longer legible, And I can see, As I take in, The whole surreal scene, That even the stones, At long last die.