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.