We sailed to Havana, Cuba,
Across the Florida Straits,
Ariving at La Habana Harbor,
A mystifying island of uncertain fate.

We toured throughout Havana,
The people were gracious and kind,
Making a lunch stop at La Floridita,
Papa’s favorite spot to unwind.

We traveled to Finca Vigia,
Hemingway’s lookout estate,
His tropical island get-a-way,
Where composing was his fate.

His library was enshrined,
And what a gorgeous view,
The backdrop picturesque,
And the sky was solid blue.

His fishing boat the Pilar,
Was dry-docked down the hill,
Standing right beside it,
Hard to imagine this was real.

We enjoyed Havana’s nightlife,
At Club Parisienne, 
The entertainment among the finest,
We had heard or seen.

An early morning in Old Havana,
Took us back in time,
The magnificent colonial structures,
And hearing the cathedral chimes.

The classic cars were a sight to see,
Cruising down the street,
What an unforgetable trip,
Visiting Hemingway’s retreat.

As the boat set out to sea,
We gestured our goodbye,
Sailing past Morro Castle,
Under the blue Havana sky.