In this decayed hole among the mountains
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel
There is the empty chapel, only the wind's home.
It has no windows, and the door swings,
Dry bones can harm no one.
Only a cock stood on the rooftree
Co co rico co co rico
In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust
Bringing rain

Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves
Waited for rain, while the black clouds
Gathered far distant, over Himavant.
The jungle crouched, humped in silence.
Then spoke the tunder

- 'The Waste Land' by T.S. Eliot
with grateful acknowledgements to the author and to Messrs Faber & Faber

'It is by the failures and misfits of a civilization that one can best judge its weaknesses.' - Author unknown