My dear children, do you remember the morning
When we climbed into the old Plymouth
And drove west straight toward the Pacific?
We were all the people there were.
We followed Dylan's songs all the way west.
It was Seventy; the war was over, almost;
And we were driving to the sea.
We had closed the farm, tucked in
The flap, and were eating the honey
Of distance and the word 'there.'
Oh whee, we're gonna fly
Down into the easy chair. We sang that
Over and over. That's what the early
Seventies were like. We weren't afraid.
And a hole had opened in the world.
We laughed at Las Vegas.
There was enough gaiety
For all of us, and ahead of us was
The ocean. Tomorrow's
The day my bride's gonna come.
And the war was over, almost.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem