A Camping Morn

The fire pit has been made The kindling has been laid The match was put to the dry, dry wood And the flames began to play The fire now is burning bright The coffee pot is on It is the way to start the day On this cloudy, misty morn The quiet of the darkened night Flowed back thru greyish mounds The moon was playing hide and seek With drifting wispy clouds A shadow blanketed the camp again Closing out the morning light The breeze then chased a leaf down hill Like a windblown handmade kite The icy hued moon was sliding It soon would leave our sight The hope for sun should soon come about From this sharp and frosty night And from the sky quite unexpectedly Came rain drops as big as grapes It pattered through the shroud of trees A whooshing sound it makes The raindrops hit the burning logs With a hissing reptile sound That caused an apparition of pure-white smoke To eerily hug the ground As fast as the rain began to fall It just as quickly did dismiss And lanching shafts of sunlight Replaced the lingering patchy mist The sleepy woodlands did then awake To the grandeur of a brand new dawn And flitting through that peerless sky The birds began their morning song!