For the Snakes

All your brambles, all your creeping vines
 All of the trash that people leave behind
 All your fine, fine columns poking up through the pond scum
 We will have uses for these things when we come
 Cracks in the marble you hauled in from the quarry
 These will be seen by all in all their glory
 Long hidden shadows of the places they came from
 We will bring memories of these things when we come
 All your abandoned things
 Once fine vestments, statues with wings
 They have their uses, every one
 Let me slither across them in the sun
 Pale imitations that you brought back from afar
 We will show them to you as they are
 Wind through the ruins, high and lonesome
 We will have uses for these things when we come