Up Sampson Hill-a short tale

     —on the 50th anniversary two friends 

There be hippies in those days
in the woods, and Woodstocks it’s been said,
and in basements listening to the time’s music
played and sung 
or spun from black vinyl discs
Dylan     The Who     The Cream     The Dead
and melodious women lamenting a paved paradise
or singing gratitude (Gracias La Vida, Joan Baez said)
and James Brown’s funky tricks
and the big mane and mercurial licks & feedback
of a sonic typhoon, a Hendrix

      (and all with the smoky scent of medicinal herb
  .    much of this was heard)

And there be youngsters in those days
and greenhorns wed: bearded, mustachioed ones
with ample hair,  and beautiful  brides— handsome pairs,
without much angst, without huge cares

And there be special places in those days,
one up Sampson Hill: a flight of stairs
into a place where friends could hang
under a stained glass lamp
around a table: oaken golden
ah, it was a fresh thing then—
and a good place to be
was up Sampson Hill
where the two lovers within
made a good place to be in

There were two lovers up Sampson hill
in those days when greenhorns wed
and of all the many words and vows
spoken by all those young lovers then
only those two up Sampson hill
still hold them now it’s said

Jim Culleny