Poem

Old Camp Town

Ode to an old campground in the sixties

I remember our vacation

(When I was a child)

Every summer was a must;

We hit the road, loaded down,

Carolina bound or bust

 Campground in the Blue Ridge

Enormous summer fun;

Our little haven standing still,

Awaiting our return

The mountain side steep trails

  laden with brown crispy leaves;

The oaks standing proud and tall

rope swing swaying in the breeze

Pulled my pants up to wade the

icy cold stream;

“Last one in is a rotten egg,”

 the water hole was our dream

This stone is right where I left it

It’s granite, I was told;

Stone terraces all around us

 such beauty to behold

Campfire blazing, marsh mellows roasting,

Scary stories before bed;

My favorite one of all the tales,

The Horseman with No Head

Oh, the memories…
though not mine;
Are calling my name,
there etched in time

  They speak to me,

not sure how...

 I wasn't there then,

But, I am NOW!

Sammie Jean

Poem written for our cabin in NC