In the centre of the ruins
A carved stone creature stands
His mighty beak is open
As are the talons on his hands

The muscles on his chest are taut
His wings spread on his back
His legs are so positioned
As if ready for attack

He stands upon a pedestal
Struggling with the clinging vine
A witness to civilisation gone
He has withstood the test of time

His stare is across the ruins
Toward an ancient obelisk
Which somehow might be linked
To the mighty basilisk

If the basilisk could talk
What tales he could tell
Of generations of mortals
And of how the city fell