THE WREATH

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Lilac & mauve carnations,
orange-creamsicle & fushia sunflowers
pop out between sprinklings of green sprigs.

Dusty-rose &
tangerine trumpets blow the announcement:

Woodstock magic;
open hands, open hearts & open minds.

A hard-loving, hard-playing time
cut short by balding, joyless men.

The wreath
of color-profusion graces my bedroom.

Bejeweled bracelets of Crystal, Hematite,
Amber, Amethyst, Aventurine, Tiger’s Eye
& Jade still grace these arms- no longer held

out in the wonderment of freedom.
Some can hear the distinct tribal drumbeat.

These wreaths adorn guarded-hearts;
believers in mid-August, butterfly-freedoms.

Away in dreams
of ‘Summer’s Eve’ wonder, Boomers will take flight.

When aging lids grow weary, the charmed-piper plays.
Then, free-spirits are filled by an illumined-iridescence.

Woodstock magic lives again…

Alice Parris

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