In shadows of time, where yesteryears dance, dost hearts oft yearn for bygone romance? A whisper of sweetly remembered glee, 'tis where the past entwines with thee.

In fields of grain I harvest the food, In cities of men I harvest their souls

Born of storm and secret flame; I guard the old, forgotten name. Crowned in fear, I do not die; but my presence scorches the sky. What am I?

A carnival of colors where the Amazon sings, and football's dance with samba brings. Land kissed by coffee's embrace, where Christ outstretches on a mountain's face.

I stood before radar, before radio's call, a steadfast guardian through tempest and squall. By flame, by lens, by electric might, I pierced the dark with guiding light. What am I, watching each night?