The Outdoors
In Ontario, you can’t go anywhere without seeing a tree.
Here, all is green and beautiful. I caught a fish.
Rowing against the current, the wind, and the rain.
The hills, the beauty of night stars shining bright.
The deer running frantically, before they are shot.
Not wanting summer to come to an end.
The roars of the dying bear, bleeding and waiting for death.
The night so dark I can hear howling at the moon.
Without thought I carved and starved.
With tons of fish I wish to eat.
I have no knife to cut or gut, these
tons of fish. I wish to catch some more,
what a chore. Chanting camping songs
all along awaiting wishfully for the heavenly fire.
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