Editing Camp Freedom NH
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We were singing about a southbound train<br>someone missing his baby and trying to hitch home.<br>Two guitars were rocking us like a wagon wheel,<br>and the longing had a weary smile, because you knew<br>there would be a happy ending.<br>That's the way that summer was.<br>The door was open and every night in the music playhouse<br>we played by only one light; that, and the moon.<br><br>I never went to camp as a child; I was fearful.<br>But I was in awe at my youngest brother,<br>who back in 1966, stole a horse from the<br>barn at camp and was one-third home<br>before they found him in Leesburg,<br>feeding an apple to his best friend.<br>Camp as a grown-up means you watch the kids<br>Like a hawk, because the hawks were flying high<br>Near the bath house, close to the mountain.<br><br>Camp as a grown-up means there's no end to a night<br>of star-gazing with a child's dog-eared astronomy book.<br>The bluest sky saved itself for a lake<br>protected by pines, and we sit and talk and swim,<br>and spend the days just so: forgetting there's an<br>end to the days, an end to the lake,<br>and an end to the world.<br><br>Write a poem for the prompt "the good old days"<br><br>For more in regards to [http://www.escuelavirtual.registraduria.gov.co/user/view.php?id=342664&course=1 free Facebook Cheat] take a look at our web-page.
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