It was 1969. There was a
Peter, Paul and Mary feel to the night.
Love was disease-free and
we had mountains to climb,
wars to end,
peace to establish.
On the battered couch
of a sincere coffee-house
we created dreams and new worlds.
We invented hope again.
Your brown eyes
pulled a languidness
out of my belly
dispelling the cold
of silent ancestors.
You left, soon enough, on a jet plane.
You never came home again
and oh, babe, I've grown so old.
-------------------------------------------------------------(rhonda)
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