Where mesas guard the wide and endless blue,
And Sandia blushes with the evening’s fire,
Albuquerque wakes, both old and new—
A city shaped by sun, by wind, by choir.
The Rio Grande flows steady through her breast,
A thread of life through desert, dust, and dream.
The cottonwoods in golden silence rest,
While chile scents the air with smoky steam.
Adobe walls hold stories in their clay,
Of pueblos, prayers, and voices in the land.
Balloon-filled skies at dawn begin to say
That wonder here walks gently, hand in hand.
O city born of earth and open sky,
Your soul is flame that does not fade or die.
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