Yes, I remember Glastonbury -
The rain, on that last afternoon
When we were ankle-deep and stuck
Immovably. June: bloody June.
The tent sagged. Someone poked a drain.
Nobody left - all stuck the same
In boggy quagmire. All I saw
Was Glastonbury - simply a name
For happy-herbs and top-grade grass
And queues for lavatories, and pie
With magic mushrooms (so they said)
And other things to make you high.
In that last hour a pounding bass
Thumped out, and round it, heavier,
Louder and louder, all the bands
From half the western hemisphere.
D A Prince
If you have any thoughts on this poem, D.A. Prince
would be pleased to hear them.