featuring the further adventures of the Scoutmaster
for souls who rest upon the ground,
enclosed by flimsy fabric walls
which transmit every slightest sound.
'Twas just the wind? What did they hear?
The snow bears other evidence.
The prints are fresh, the tracks are clear:
a bear has passed between the tents.
To enhance the Boy Scouts' lives
there's clearly but one way to go:
armed with pluck and pocket knives,
pursue the tracks left in the snow!
elegant verse. my favorite: Sleep is light when out of doors.
ReplyDeleteThat is a very good poem; congratulations.
ReplyDeleteI think they might need at least a Swiss Army knife. Nice Magpie :)
ReplyDeleteWonderful verse...
ReplyDeletezeroing into the arrow
I loved the phrase "flimsy fabric walls."
ReplyDeleteMy youngest son was a scout. Miss those fun days.
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