Love Song to a Lost Generation
In 1967 when the world was young and new
we died a'borning.
Our drug-swept minds we left to weep
a burial parade to the new morning
That dreamed us in our dreams, but never wakened.
Oh yes, there was a time when time was young and
open, free to wander.
Oh yes, there was a time when time was young
and ready there to squander.
Oh yes, there was a time when nothing seemed
beyond a new direction.
Oh yes, there was a time, but time has died
and none are resurrected.
It's a sad song I'm singing
of dreams that might have been fulfilled
if only . . .
A sad song,
like leaves blown from a tree
to find that they are lonely,
but winter's coming
& there's no returning down that road
once the snows have rearranged it.
What happened to our plans for peace,
for sharing bount beyond belief
for blazoning the dawn with youthful fire . . .
Can these short years now find us old
withered spider webs of gold
spun so fine that none would think to see us.
Our voice is gone.
Our fire has died.
And all that echoed deep inside our hearts
to march eternal now eludes us.
In spiraling we've lost our thread
We've become the age to dread.
Like this last poem, we soon are dead,
I weep for the child almost born.
She showed a promise now unfulfilled.
Perhaps someday again may she find us.