Hail, time-tossed traveler, 
trapped in the tears of mourning trees.
Your descendants now dance differently;
the stories their scents tell are strange to you.
Would you call kin such alien creatures?

But the same sunlight falls on this strange place;
the leaves still look towards its light,
and the daughters of Adria still dress in black.
Their sap is as sweet as ever it seemed.

Now we have made our way to marvel at your miniscule form,
to wonder at the world that once you roamed,
and seek the stories you secret away.
Rejoice; you are remembered, despite the ravages of time.