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 in the rooftree
Co co rico, co co rico
In a flash of lightening. Then a damp gust
Bringing rain
~ T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land, in the prologue to Doris Lessing’s The Grass Is Singing