El Con8dor Pasa Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

The high wind blows
The gray rocks stand
A giant shadow moves
It flies over the land.

He spreads his wings
So wide and strong
He looks at the world
The sky is his home

He glides on the air
He does not need to flap
He softly floats along
Above the mountain map.

He is the king
Of the tall mountain peak.
With a white feather collar
And a sharp hooked beak.

He flies up so high
He touches the clouds
He watches the river below
He feels big and proud.

The sun starts to set
The sky turns to red
He flies to his cliff
To rest his sleepy head.