This Place

Moonlight peeks through the leaves on the branches,
Wolves' howls echo against the closed space
Where campfires flames dance,
And the stars can be seen clearly from this place.

The river cuts through the old, round rocks.
My breath can be seen in the still moonlight
Where ice forms on my golden locks. 
I can't wait for the sun to end this night.

As the dawn is breaking and there is day
I see that shadows are not so real.
And as I move on, I am okay.
I run to home, I run to mom, and a meal.

Home, sweet, home is all too near and sweet.
I can't wait for my head and pillow to meet!

by Emory McClary, Pawleys Island


Not a fan of camping, Emory?!  I don't like camping, either!  LOL!  Really like your poem about it, though.   Don't forget to shop on Amazon to help build our new library! Click on any ad!   Top