Llama in the Andes

On a steep and narrow path

I continue to climb.

Very high up; concentrating,

Patiently checking my footing

I am alone; there is silence,

Except for the hollow sound of my hooves

Echoing and re-echoing across the steep valley.

The mountain top is very cold

But my wool is soft, fine, warm.

The vegetation is sparse, the air thin.

But how close beside the sky I am,

How near to heaven!