For what is known,
A memento of emotions.
By strange path,
A faint scent in the air.
With no care,
Walking over the line.
Growing like a root,
Was the root to the place.
Seeking and searching,
To cut loose.
From the time,
Set on search,
It was to be.
These vines of pain,
Get under the skin.
Who sent the charge,
Of centuries ahead.