Fortress of the victory

In Bhutan's realm where history dwells,
An archaeologist's story tells,
Of a soul who walks among the past,
Connecting with echoes that forever last.

He speaks to walls of fortresses grand,
Where ancient battles took their stand,
Conversing with arrow-slit eyes so keen,
Through which the past's stories gleam.

Amidst the woods and nature's grace,
He finds solace in the silent embrace,
With birds as his companions near,
Exploring remnants of yesteryear.

Drukgyal Dzong's walls, arrow-eyed,
Tell tales of warriors who once defied,
Countless foes with bow and might,
A legacy embedded in the ancient site.

Through fortified tunnels, he roams,
In the shadows of towers that still loom,
Where horse hooves once struck the ground,
Echoes of history's hoofbeats resound.

Buried tanks hold water's memory,
Whispering secrets of forgotten victory,
A sword emerges from nature's cloak,
Clashes of steel, history awoke.

But in this reverie, a modern ring,
A ringer's tone, a jarring thing,
The ancient world slips through his grasp,
Reality's call, the moment has passed.

Yet, the archaeologist's heart remains,
Connected to history's intricate chains,
In whispers of winds and rustling leaves,
The past persists, the soul believes.

For in Bhutan's embrace, where stories are told,
The archaeologist's spirit, brave and bold,
Unearths the echoes of ages gone by,
Preserving the past beneath the sky.