Sandals of San Blas

    Past mangrove swamps we made our way,
    my golden sandals stayed on tight,
    and in the village square I danced
    with shoes that glistened in the night.

    Those prized possessions tight in hand,
    I walked along the pebbled shore;
    and through the hammock’s stringy gaps
    my sandals sweetly gleamed once more.

    Then finding that old swimming hole
    and hearing of the crocodiles,
    we dipped our toes in anyway,
    to leave with giggles, screams, and smiles!

    At noon I climbed out of the car
    and found a most distressing loss:
    my golden sandals sacrificed--
    beside the waters of San Blas.