Remember peace and love and stringy hair?
Insipid daisy-giving? Dancing gauze?
Encounter groups and love-ins everywhere?
The way the groups made every thought a cause?
I recollect them with the same contempt
engendered then by every boring pose;
it seemed so few were making real attempt
to reach for truth, or deal with what they chose.
And as our generation aged, those souls
appeared to turn to other views, as much
as ever seeking ease by playing roles.
But here’s a group still meeting just to touch!
You tell me there’s an enclave still? Again?
I’m just about as skeptical as then . . .