The ageing hippies congregate

Upon the Tor, at ten to eight.

Silhouettes upon the crest,

They turn their faces to the West

And gaze... towards twilight

Sunsets bring romantics out

To see the day's last crimson shout.

Attracted by this cosmic bribe,

They joined the Glastonbury tribe

To sigh... at twilight.

Some were here when only cows roamed Worthy Farm.

Some arrived to feed the new-age trade.

Others came to make a lifetime's pilgrimage.

All are here to watch the daylight fade.

New-age bookshops empty out.

Holistic clinics safely shut.

Alerted by their PDAs,

They Save and Quit their working days

To climb... towards twilight.

You can almost hear the hiss of the drowning sun,

As it sinks into the cold Western sea.

You feel an ancient thrill as the myths roll in,

Weaving legends into history.

The hero Arthur came this way

And Joseph brought a friend they say.

Ley-lines radiate from here.

There's magic in the atmosphere -

It glows... in the twilight.

When it's done, they stumble down,

To their homes in Glastonbury town.

With calm regained and hope revived,

To get on with their daily lives

Their course… towards twilight.