February Poem

Perhaps it is the long-lingering winter
Or the ice-crusted snow that grips the world
Things seem to come to an end
And we are helpless to oppose them
The sun lies low on the horizon
Throwing harsh shadows across the lines in our faces

And yet I know you
You are the one whose eyes would shine
When you spoke of the future
You the ones who floated in the ocean of time
when that Perfect Wave picked us up
And hurled us laughing upon foreign shores
Unafraid
Your long flowing brown hair would catch the sunlight
As your silver hair catches moonlight now
and we have gone from children to parents
From peace and love to sense and responsibility
And the long horse-drawn caravan of the rainbow gypsies
straggles down a highway where our own young choose luxury cars
And in many ways our own children will never know us
like we know one another
They are both victims and beneficiaries of our revolution
And they can't forgive us
Because we rode that perfect wave
The one they wait for in vain
We are still those gypsies
Strangers in a Strange Land
Young Warriors who fought for the fading ideal
Woodstock Nation

But it is February
Those blooms are long faded
Beneath the ice-crusted snow
But soon it will be Spring
Those flowers are already stirring
Pick up your guitar
Untie your long hair
(A touch of gray suits you anyway)
This wave is still rolling
And though others have fallen into the boiling foam
You are the strong one
You are the rider
You are the one to take this ride to the end
And step into the sand
Triumphant