We were modern hippies,
Doing drugs and making love,
Fighting the power,
And sleeping in sunflowers.
But eventually,
The lighters have to be put,
away,
And the rebellion has to stop.
You can't win 'em all,
Hair has to be cut,
And bead jackets replaced,
With suits,
Hiding our tattoos,
A regular rebel who lost their cause.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I know the many you've written of...some of their quests, now, hardly worth the battle...but their unending wish, and my own, as well, for peace....remains in their hippie hearts. Not a bad thing....PEACE