The trees and the river
where we loved to go.
With tents and dried kindling,
the fire, its glow.

Make swings in the trees
with mud on our knees.
Completing scout tasks
and the badges we'd sew.
Make rafts that we'd sail
and the scout songs, regail.

We'd follow the river
to see it unfold.
Now none of us go there
now that we're old.

Poetry by Kaydee