||[Aug. 15th, 2009|11:08 am]
Forty years since Woodstock? So it is. Here, have a poem:|
And all the generations go
This is mine
Spread out like sheep on the pale green hills,
You dig it, man?-
Changing the world with daddy’s money.
Arlo is sweet,
Baez sings out pure as a bell
In a chapel of air, the high notes smoking.