Down south along the west seacoast, there is a shore unknown to most
Its bay is old, was deeply made, by river through a jungle glade
Where water meets the shifting sand, a village grew along the land
Its people found a simple life with boats and hooks and fishing knife
And fruits grew sweet with rich soil laid, and from them women fresh pies made
To sell along the white sand beach to passersby these shores did reach
Yes, many found this paradise, where they could hide for a low price
No road exists to bring them there, no bus or train or plane by air
But in they came by ferryboat to find some peace and place remote
To forget strife in cities packed, and find a place with low impact
They found a place far from the mob, with waterfalls where palm fronds bob
Where one can lay on warm white sand, and strong fruit drinks will greet the hand
A place where preening parrots pose and search for dropped food with their nose
And green iguanas on a string, are charged by boys for photo-ing
And all along the sandy beach, palapa cafes one can reach
To eat fresh fish caught in that morn, with beans and tortillas of corn
and sip on drinks and swig on beer, and breathe the air that is so clear
If they wish they can stay the night and swing in hammock ‘neath starlight
Their ears will hear the humming wave of cicadas and crickets brave
And see the moonlight sparkling on the blue-lit waters until dawn
Then village women take their wash to river’s edge with clothes to splosh
Against the rocks and ring on trees, as soapsuds run with a great squeeze
The burros plod with endless loads, upon paths with no traffic codes
Chameleons change in shifting shade, the goats find food along the grade
Then the ferry enters the bay to start another tourist day
And as the visitors arrive the pie-girls call to sell and thrive
Another day with fish to grill, another day where time stands still
The tidal sands will rise and fall, the fishing boats will make their haul
The café men will count their change from tourist meals in the exchange
The jade jungle will lushly grow, the sun will set in orange glow
Sub-tropical with temp’rate zone, no cars, no roads, no telephone
There’s scorpions and heavy rain, but so much more this place can claim
The flowers bloom in year-long zeal and is a spot where all can heal
Yelapa is a tranquil place, forever may it flow with grace

The village of Yelapa, which lies just twenty miles south of Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, is featured in Lita’s book, Hiding in Paradise.