In the rain-soaked alleyways,
whispers of ancient songs,
linger like echoes in crumbling stones.
Silhouettes cast by invisible light,
dance the forgotten waltz of yesterday.
Voices of the wind,
tendrils of mist unfurl,
wrapping around the heart of
a city weary, yet vibrantly still.
Each lamplight halo,
a greenish ethereal glow,
kindles brief romances
between the living and the shadows that breathe.
Beyond the rivers' edge,
dreams braided into fabric
of tales not spoken,
sketched upon the flux of time's
inexorable tide.
Manchester, a name
whispered upon the lips of
ghosts and reveries,
in drystone museums of the soul.