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The flower children were in full swing, selling love, less woe.
I was not old enough for Woodstock, but wanted to go.
Hip hugger bell bottoms with navels peeking were the rage.
Boys were sent to Viet Nam, with high hopes, a surprising page.

We thought they would be back in seconds, not understanding at all.
We were innocent, sheltered, naïve, young, following no real call.
In the sixties clothing was groovy, we were allowed stripes and flowers.
Dots and stripes too, were the norm, which was just one of our powers.

White go-go boots, thanks to Nancy Sinatra’s Boots Made for Walking.
So many school lunches, where everyone was doing the talking.
Our hair was poofed up like a poodle, in the top we put a little red bow.
It might have been blue or pink, but it had to be put there just so.

We had transistor radios, and push button phones, attached to the wall.
We thought we were high tech, which now seems quite weird after all.
Dr. Martin Luther King was making his Dream speech and JFK got shot.
Not worried at all; my life was easy, in the Midwest, a tiny polka dot.

The Beatles had the first five spots in the favorite hits of the week.
I was playing “I want to hold your hand”, it was Paul that I’d seek.
Women were wearing hats and gloves, which seems silly now.
But Jackie Kennedy was setting the style, which was usually a wow.

USSR’s Valentina Tereshkova was the first woman in space.
Ku Klux Klan bombed a Baptist church, a horrible disgrace.
Zipcodes, lava lamps, and pull tabs were new at this time.
Civil rights an issue? I was more aware of a Ford Mustang in lime.

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