The charm of afternoon hours keep slipping awaySo lazily past the rolling sea

A growing pile of steel bottle tops litter the Sand at my feet along with nagging cares which are beginning to feel as far away as home

At this rate, if the warm island breeze Continues to rustle the palm fronds just so And the fresh ceviche keeps coming, cool and sweet The dark circles are disappearing and That old, endless string of 4:30AM yesterdays Could now be mistaken for some haunting dream

It should take just two more days, I surmise, Of this tropical clime to regain enough strength To realize that I've been foolishly stumbling Blindly under some kind of strange spell Then it comes clear and crisp as the cathedral bell I breathe easy and my mind is freed what we consider vacation is truly life, indeed.