“Honduras”

Emerald hills where the cloud-veil streams,  
Honduras wakes from emerald dreams—  
Banana palms in morning’s gold,  
The whispering secrets mountains hold.  

Copán’s old glyphs in quiet stone,  
Remind us we are not alone—  
Mayan kings with jaguar eyes,  
Still haunt the dusk and sunrise skies.  

The Rio Cangrejal’s white song  
Carries the raft and heart along,  
Through jungle sighs and toucan calls,  
Where every shade of green enthralls.  

La Ceiba dances all night long,  
The streets alive with laughter’s song,  
Garifuna drums on distant sand,  
Call ancestors to bless the land.  

San Pedro’s lights blink like a heart  
That pulses where traditions start—  
From baleadas by the fire,  
To hopeful youths who dare aspire.  

In Comayagua, bells resound,  
With centuries in every sound.  
Tegucigalpa’s bustling maze—  
Café aromas, smoky haze.  

From Roatán’s reefs of turquoise bright  
To pine-capped peaks between the light,  
Honduras, proud and stubborn, stands—  
A jewel shaped by many hands.  

O country woven from the sun,  
With mango, maize, and marimba spun—  
In rain and laughter, struggle, song,  
Your spirit fierce, your roots so strong.

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