I wonder how long it stayed intact inside those protective walls before it was forgotten?
It’s one of many such burials there, so, probably like cemeteries now, where they fill up, the generations pass, and the last person who put flowers on the graves each Spring passes, they wind up deteriorating. Four generations is my own personal limit, that’s some great-greats, and I check on the five that I know and are fairly close by, but I’ve never planted ‘em. Maybe next year.