Camp Sight
. for public domain
My campsites had no history,
like a house, a neighborhood,
where children grow up,
and grown ups grow old,
a place that you miss
when it's finally sold.
They served for a night, or maybe two,
sometimes for a month,
til the time to go
arrived. I would pack,
and clean up the site,
and rarely looked back.
No site was ever mine to own,
only a place to be alone
with a hurt or low thought.
Overwrought or distraught,
the healing that came
I could not have bought.
Copyright © William Coyne | Year Posted 2021
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