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The canvas tents, a sturdy line,
Beneath Bataan's familiar shine.
PNOC's grounds, a verdant spread,
Where youthful adventures were led.

The scent of earth and coastal air,
A memory beyond compare.
The crackling fire, a cheerful blaze,
Through those uncomplicated early days.

Learning knots by lantern light,
As fireflies danced in the fading night.
Exploring trails with eager feet,
Where jungle whispers soft and sweet.

The bugle's call, a welcome sound,
On that Bataanese hallowed ground.
The flag held high with youthful pride,
Where history's echoes still reside.

The mess kit clanging, a friendly tune,
Beneath the Mariveles moon.
The laughter shared, a joyful sound,
On that resourceful PNOC ground.

The ghost stories told with glee,
Beneath the sprawling canopy.
The twinkling stars, a distant gleam,
Living out a Boy Scout dream.

The camaraderie strong and bold,
Stories and secrets to be told.
The shared adventures big and small,
Answering freedom's youthful call.

The hikes we took, the songs we'd sing,
The simple joys that camping bring.
The lessons learned, the friendships made,
In that Bataanese sun-drenched glade.

Now years have passed, the memories stay,
Of PNOC camping come what may.
A flicker of the campfire's spark,
Leaving its imprint on the heart.

In Mariveles' embrace so green,
Those early eighties, a nostalgic scene.
Of canvas tents and youthful cheer,
A time held precious, year by year.

©bfa040925

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