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At Tihuanaco he stepped ashore
Washed up on foreign lands
Bringing with him knowledge
And the skill of ancient hands

He sculpted tombs and palaces
Carved crops into the plains;
Clear blue silver water
Flowed freely through his veins

Mama Occlo; Manco Capac;
Gods beneath the sun
Spread colour from their woven hearts –

The New World had begun…

Part of the Wide World collection

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For weeks he scanned the horizon with dark eyes. His intensity froze him to stone in the barren desert, and his kinsfolk could not move him. Just as night fell on the sixteenth day, small shapes danced on the distant dunes, twirling and leaping ever nearer in a frenzy of joy and longing.
His call had been answered – his vigil was ended.
Now he could sleep.

Part of the Wide World collection.

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The Painted Desert

The sand so deep
The land so wide
The stillness on which echoes glide
The land so wide
The sand so deep
The burning blue; so vast; so steep
And only truth remains in stone –
An age of glass, an age of bone
An age of ruin, an age of glory –
And every face tells a story…
Underneath the million skies
Only bodies burn and die,
While spirit, magic, myth live on
Silent voice to those now gone

And we who walked the sand
The time before the time before,
Are pleased to be all rock and dust
Blown on the wind, and so; no more

This is part of the Distant Times collection