Poem: Machu Picchu, Crown of the Clouds

High in the Andes, where condors glide,
A city sleeps on the mountainside.
Stone upon stone in silence stands,
Laid long ago by Incan hands.
Veils of mist in morning light,
Shroud its walls in ghostly white.
Terraced fields and sacred ways,
Whisper tales of ancient days.
Temple of Sun, aligned with stars,
Echoes wisdom from afar.
The Urubamba’s winding song
Has cradled ruins all along.
Llamas graze where priests once prayed,
And time moves slow in moss and shade.
Nature and craft in quiet accord—
Each stone a hymn, each peak a lord.
Pilgrims climb to touch the past,
Through clouds and time, their shadows cast.
And when they stand at the Gate of the Sun,
They feel the breath of the earth as one.
Oh Machu Picchu, lost and found,
Sacred citadel, skyward crowned—
A testament through wind and rain,
That beauty and spirit shall remain.