In wooded forests lush and green,
there lay the bygone ruins, three.
Next to the dusty, dry ravine,
there sit that worn and aged debris.
With trowel and brush they excavate,
in a single moment consummate.
This ancient, timeless, holy place,
of circled stone and broken stream,
of stolen jewels and work defaced,
the spoils of some destroyed regime.
What treasures lay beneath the ground,
waiting now to be unbound?
Where do the artifacts now dwell?
Only time can show and tell.