Some want to be in Paris.
When Springtime fills the air.
Top walk along the Seine
with nary a Springtime care
Others say,
"London. Thats where I want to be!"
Still others climb on broad,
sail off on the deep blue sea.
Not Me. No, none of those.
Not one of those I'd propose.
I want to be in Hawai'i
Where the fragrant flowers grow.
Where the palm trees dust the sky.
Where the soft trade winds blow.
I want to burrow in the sand.
Let the waves grab at my feet.
Feel the warm and then the cool.
Hear the surf's pulsating beat.
I want to stand on the Pali
and look out across the Plain.
To see Kamehameha and his men again.
To be in Hale'iewa
when the lanterns float to sea.
To visit the Urasenke
for a ceremony of tea.
And on May Day, "Don's" Lei Day,
off to the Shell I'll go,
to see The Caz and all their troupe
put on their famous show.
I know someday I'll travel far
off to those other places.
I'll see new sights and hear new sounds.
Take note of strange new faces.
But in all the world, I must go
to my personal Shangra-La.
To my islands of sun
and flowers and trees.
Where the password is Aloha.
