Written by: Cyndi MacMillan

Misting the woods where we’ve pitched camp,
rain becomes a mischievous scamp,
large drops slide from heavy branched pines,
wrens fill birch dens that clouds assign, 
the tent leans and our clothes are damp.

Love, there is the warmth of our lamp,
so as we drowse let peace enstamp,
almost lulled by nature’s design 
misting the woods.

Soon, we will the afternoon clamp,
don our slickers, down pathways tramp,
for now, let long daydreams entwine,
the world is kissed while lips align,
this shower of sighs has your vamp
misting the woods.