By way of explanation, with a shortcut through obscurity.

- Jeff R.

On top of a green hill stood some ruins. Among these ruins picnicked a father and daughter.

Spoke the daughter: "Father, oh please bother to explain to me this place.
I cannot find a stone upon a stone, less a wall with which to face."

Spoke the father: "Daughter, this is ruin, a thing of memory.
It's what remains of what once was, harmed irreparably."

"Oh, I think it rings as truly tragic," the father's daughter thought aloud.
"To make such a thing of ruly magic, and to know it thusly now."

"Oh, I would not winter for the owner's woes," the daughter's father said.
"His summer's come and passed us long ago, and now he is most surely dead."