The camp grounds

by charles   Feb 26, 2006


The cool smoke from burning embers of hickory,rise above the campgrounds.
canvas tents,peak about like whips of beaten meringue.the chicory filled tin cups,of black gold,stirs stories of old.

campfires are stoaked with dried out logs.
rivers catch fills the blackened ,cured cast iron skillets.

golden brown bears and bucks have come to rivers edge,golden eagles fly over head,tall grasses hide the hairs,beavers dams are being combed
the trumpets of nature serenades the campers,with calls and shrills the days light has come to an end

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Latest Comments

  • 18 years ago

    by mike

    Wow this is is a great poem i love it keep up the great work charles

  • 18 years ago

    by JLT

    Awww, you've reminded me of how much I love camping.. You really should go sometime. Your descriptions are brilliant, but it's much more relaxing in real life. :) Keep up the good work!

    ~Jessica

  • 18 years ago

    by Italian Stallion

    Wow, I loved it. The poem has a lot of description for someone who has never been camping. Awsome Job, keep up the good work.

    ~Joe~

  • 18 years ago

    by Johanna

    Wow.. that was very beatiful, and descriptive. I love it, can't wait to read more =)

  • 18 years ago

    by Odd

    This i a good poem you have alot of potensial

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