Illusion That War Could Not Touch Us

Spring of 1971, happy laughter Multi-colored flowers and happy faces we drive painted vans our parents can afford We pile in, meeting new friends, some potential lovers Peppermint breath greet us in half beat valentine waves Idealists abounded, we flash peace signs in the cosmos Woodstock knocks around in our dendrite highways We are determined to drowned out the Viet Nam War Grayscale news is nightly sharing things that rock our world We wear rounded rose-colored, or tiny squared off blue granny glasses, Love beads and two-fingered peace signs resound in our brains Our hearts are determined to remain child-like magical. We concentrate on the goodness of strangers We create our own ambiance we children of the night Star lit beaches catch our mirthful dancing Our laughter is excruciatingly loud! A magical time with an illusion that Viet Nam cannot touch us Until she does, drafting one son at a time - mostly poor boys Farm kids and poor kids from Chicago or St. Louis. Gallantry has not let them escape to Canada. We dance harder, flinging ourselves into each other’s eyes Falling in love with every one of the future slain, not seeing fodder. Helping the disappointed drafted enjoy their last ten days Giving them brilliant memories for when they are miserable wetted down in swamps, expecting to die Reminding them of normalcy before their trip to this unkind place. Mama Cass and Karen Carpenter are joyfully singing their folk songs None of us realizing how illusive happily-ever-after is.