The group of histourists moved closer together as Clancy Deville led them along a familiar path through the ruins. As he walked, he pointed out features he knew would impress, and waited patiently as they snapped shots with their ocular visors.
Gone is the freshness of warm summer rain,
Gone are the words which brought me to shame.
Gone are the birds, aloft in the sky,
Gone are the flowers, which in fields lie.