Images

Flash. Sound bang dash.

The drummer cracks
The drum stick to the drum. Summers mash
Acoustic hash, echoes pile the streets
Of the rocking gnomes.

Children left their home
For San Francisco's loan
Only to be cold
Wearied tired and sleepless,

Fed only the crumbs
Their guitars would bring.

Their still alive
But as for now
I won't forget
The death of the hippie.