The campground is deserted,
it's quiet and serene;
no crowds of noisy people,
in truth, there's no one seen.
I scout each hidden site,
to see which one is best;
but they all look the same,
can't tell one from the rest.
Eighteen bucks for one night,
the price keeps going higher;
my camping days are fading,
to the tents, I don't aspire.
Old age has softened me,
a bed is more my speed;
the refrigerator's there,
and has all I'll ever need.
The campground is deserted,
it's closed for this fall season;
there's only ghosts of campers past,
that slept there for a reason.
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 10:58 PM UTC
The campground is deserted,
it's quiet and serene;
no crowds of noisy people,
in truth, there's no one seen.
I scout each hidden site,
to see which one is best;
but they all look the same,
can't tell one from the rest.
Eighteen bucks for one night,
the price keeps going higher;
my camping days are fading,
to the tents, I don't aspire.
Old age has softened me,
a bed is more my speed;
the refrigerator's there,
and has all I'll ever need.
The campground is deserted,
it's closed for this fall season;
there's only ghosts of campers past,
that slept there for a reason.
Request permission to use this poem