Copan

I stood, on Copan's hallowed land,
I heard the ancient hosts...
softly, as a singing wind...
came the voices of these gentle ghosts.

I, stood there, amid the Stelas high,
I, faced their ball-court where warriors
died.
From a point beyond the pyramids crown,
as a whisper, as a multitude, the Mayan
sighed.

by Joya Fairchild

Other poems of JOYA FAIRCHILD (3)

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