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17 When I was girl of 17….. My friend and I would fly pell mell In her Dad’s 57’ Chevy down the esses of winding road to watch the boys shoot the curl and hang ten. There I met a tall, tawny blonde, with a wave of wheaty hair across his azure eyes He drove a blue woody full of fun and surfboards He’d come to pick me up in his wooden chariot to take me to sandy beaches Where I’d sit for hours content to watch the foamy waves take him to his heaven We’d kiss for hours watching gold to purple skies our lithe bodies warmed from the sun and like the Beach boy’s song I was his surfer girl, he my surfer guy We would then float home on fluffy clouds of love… or so we thought at 17 One day he was gone I heard to hula girls and waves 10 feet high Ohhhh, but the memories are still there of when I was a girl of 17 |
Additional Notes:
Now, whenever I see a Woody, I think of him and the summer of “63”
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