Camp Out

9 Comments

Tags:
  • Nature
    • ,
  • Family

    Poem Commentary

    I always loved camping. A great way to escape the doldrums. We camped a lot when my children were small, and thus I wrote this so we would remember, during the cold months, that there was something to look forward to when summer came once again.

    Camp Out

     Our tent is warm
    The air is clear
    The stars are shining down
    The Milky Way is overhead
    There's night light all around
    There's night light all around

    The crickets chirp
    Through rustling wind
    And horse hooves touch the ground
    We're safe inside our shelter tent
    With night sounds all around
    With night sounds all around

    We say good night
    Flick off flashlight
    Four sleeping bag cocoons
    With smiling hearts we make a pact
    That we'll be back here soon
    That we'll be back here soon

    Poem Comments

    (9)

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    Musicmynded1 commented on Camp Out

    02-02-2010

    Yep! that about explains our camp outs as well. Very Nice!
    Reply to Comment

    gogant commented on Camp Out

    01-06-2010

    A sprightly verse singing the praises of camping out...I've given it up, though...camping, that is. Nice work, Lucinda.......................g
    Reply to Comment

    SavVySam commented on Camp Out

    12-29-2009

    Though I have to admit I am a fair weather camper, this does make me want to start making those summer plans! Very nicely done! The soft repetition at the end of each stanza is very effective!
    Reply to Comment

    kpeery09 commented on Camp Out

    12-18-2009

    This is really good....it makes me remember of when i was in the Boy Scouts and we did camping like in open woods and all that and it was fun. I give you 10
    Reply to Comment

    redbloodink commented on Camp Out

    12-18-2009

    this brought back momories.... well done..... sounded like fun.... Red
    Reply to Comment

    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    lucindaclaire’s Poems (32)

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