The Camper
Through the murky veil of morning fog, the smell of bacon,
as it creeps, slowly winding its way from the frying pan scent.
Riding high on the morning mist, it steals across into the tent,
silent as a crawling snail, into the cub Scout’s bag to awaken.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
