It could be a log cabin
In a clearing way up high
Or a set of well used wall tents
Crouched beneath an Autum sky
It could be just a back pack tent
Set by the Forrest 's edge
Or maybe just sleeping bag
On some wild mountain's ledge
Whatever kind of camp it iswill be plumb full of cheer
'Cause the very fact it's set up
Means the best time of the year
There'll be coffee on the campfire
A hint of snow-edge wind
That sets the trees quakin'
As a friend comes ridin' in
There'll be silhouettes on tent walls,
As an old huntin' tales are told
And the crisp clear - spilt of fire wood
As the Axe blade fights the cold
Then gradually the camp'll quiet
As the hunter's hit their sacks
To dream Elk Dreams
Of blacked-necked bulls
And massive white - times racks...
Kendra Tyler
October 7,2007
COPYRIGHT@2007
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