Gloria

O great and glorious Goddess of the Guatemalan gardens, Gloria, 
Does she hear my cries? 
I'm of the north, where the cold winds blow, 
The ice sleeps on mountains, the dead are frozen in Arctic graveyards. 
She comes from the south, where tropical storms rise, 
The sand blankets the desert, where life grows to its fullest extent. 
Her eyes burn like fire, igniting my heart with a familiar yearning: 
Despierto, demaciado, divine madness!  
Here we meet, two souls from different ends of the Earth, 
Dancing in shadows and light, 
Beckoning each other to question: 
What happens when the sandstorm and blizzard collide?