Honduran Waitress

Honduran Waitress
 
Gold medallion rises like a yellow rose
From a galleon sunk in crushed velvet dreams
Whose Honduran heart beats for the love of God
That her children will follow the spice routes
From their personal Indonesia
To sail the Maritime Silk Road
With a cargo full of Saffron
But this strange American man
Makes love his trade
But her waitress role defined
Like the latitudes of a heart
That sleeps in the tropic breeze
Only to wake with him gone
Into a myth, she once believed
But fallen like an idol into the sea