I am waiting. I know you will come, when does not matter to me: I am old, and patient.
When you arrive, I will be ready. Maybe, by then, you will be wiser. If not, woe to you.
You may think that, after those eons, I should have forgotten. Poor you. I forget nothing, ever. Besides, I know your sort: the species that believes they can trample the spring flowers, anywhere, regardless, as if it was their home. It isn’t.
Lack of respect, I call it. Well, respect you shall learn, the hard way.
For there is a guardian on these shores, unforgiving, immortal.