I am writing a prose poem about my time spent here over a half century. I first came here in 1968. Washington Square Park Washington where all the young folks came. Hippies, performers, orators, radicals, and musicians hung out here. I may have been a few ghosts also, as this was once a burial ground.
I came down here a couple of days ago thinking there was an art festival (my mistake). No festival so I sat down and surveyed the happening going on. There has always been a spirit of freedom and expression here. Thought things have changed, the spirit is still there.
Being there conjured up the feelings I had when I caroused a few other areas. The idea 💡 to write a long poem came during the 🌉 night. I have about thirty lines and contemplate writing more.
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