Rain amongst the rats and ruins.

Faint rains by crumbled mortar,
cloaks vines, weeds, limp, lacklustre,
in clusters across perished floors
of halls vacant, no longer trod,

upset by risen serpentine roots,
bulging amidst brick half-stacked,
sprawled, by the track of rats
hurried in salient huntings,
heeding the omen of thunder

beneath withered, decrepit roofs
opened to bold silvered heavens
that govern, stern, in greys rolling 
a way away from bones that lay of old,

cold and silent, earthen, dreaming.