Come to San Francisco
Wearing flowers as organic crowns
Come to dance
Trip out
Pick up the badass torch from City Lights
Howl at the man
Revel as rebels
Wash your ears out with psychedelic sounds
Groove in tune
Turn on
If we didn’t make it in the Summer of Love
We watched
Even through the pages of Life and Time
We listened to scratchy records
We remembered down the long years
By the time the iconic bridge was in my viewfinder
The only flowers left were in gardens
Or on cars
But the echo of the song
Remains
David Trudel © 2012
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David–Yes! Perfect!
Very cool. To those of us for whom arriving in San Francisco was a magical rite of passage that changed our lives forever, your poem speaks volumes.
Thanks very much – I was watching from afar and was a few years too young to join the party but I recognize the watershed importance of mid sixties SF. Music, art, social mores, politics and more continue to be influenced by what was going on in the Bay Area all those years ago.
I agree, and I arrived in ’95, not ’65.