The Camp Bus

The camp bus was waiting; The child was in tears. The dad was crouched down in a squat. I heard not a word But I knew that the boy Had his stomach tied up in a knot. The counselor was patient; The child rubbed his eyes. The father spoke softly and calm. I fell back in time And remembered a day When I, too, tried to quiet a qualm. I walked on and wondered, Quite certain I knew That the bus and that boy went to camp; And the dad left for work With his nerves in a knot And his eyes, like his son’s, slightly damp.