.
(Remembering the summer of ’67)
.
It was a blue-sky summer
of beach love freedom
and baby-oil tans
but most of all
a hunger
for the daring wild truth.
We danced far away
from dead philosophers
returning to their coffins
and the icy leanings
of cynical professors.
And so it was
that long, fiery season
when heat ignited bodies
and the sun
kindled our souls
that Nietzsche’s god
rolled over
in his grave.
.
.
(c) 2013, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
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(a re-post from 2013, revised)
.
.