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Poem

The welcome party’s out in style,
It wags its tail, it beams a smile;
The cabs lined up are set to go,
Resplendent as in a 1950’s pageant show.
The air is warm, the palm trees sway,
For Old Havana airport, it’s just another day.

The road to town is just a blur,
Of sights and sounds and images that stir,
Of little children playing football on some dirt street,
Of emaciated horses pulling carts to their own melodic beat.
Of crowds hitching a ride, hands outstretched in supplication,
With hopeful gaze and beaming smiles revealing none of their frustration.


As the city walls draw near there’s grandeur that abounds,
 A little worn and faded but with beauty that astounds.
A history of riches, an eye for style and form,
With Spanish flair undoubted and charm beyond the norm;
The cupola’s and palaces, some frayed beyond repair,
A testament of Cuba, its struggles and despair.

Yet the sentiment of hope is palpable, we feel it through their eyes,
A little taste of freedom, with all this thought implies.
A chink in the old armor, one not evident before,
With Castro’s passing comes a gift - a slowly opening door.
Let this be one of friendship where we offer them our hand,
Not to change them nor to rule them, but simply help their world expand.

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