Sun, Jun 30, 12:32 PM CDT

Oregon Hippie

Writers People posted on May 01, 2007
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Description


There was an old hippie who lived in a cabin he'd built high on a hill. He grew his own food and hauled up his water and never had to pay any bills. His neighbors shot goats and wore woolen coats and worked at the local mill. They made their own whiskey in the stile down the hill and always drank their fill. He left them behind to move to L.A. and to this day he dwells there still. In Loving Memory of My Best Friend Darryl Harry Rane

Comments (5)


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DANDURANTE

9:49PM | Tue, 01 May 2007

Very cool poem! I'd like to live like the man you talk about in it. Thats the way it should be!

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lizzibell

6:19PM | Fri, 08 February 2008

cool poem...

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DukeNukem2005

7:54AM | Thu, 28 February 2008

This very beautiful and surprising image. I look on this image not tearing off eyes.

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midnight_stories

11:05AM | Wed, 21 July 2010

Love the poem but I guess I'm heading from the city to the farm

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amirapsp

3:21AM | Thu, 26 December 2013

Awesome my friend ;-)


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