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Jake Meager Aug 2015
Steps into infinite
the beat of soles
mountains, canyons
trees, and holes
The heartbeat of Philmont
the feel of freedom
smelling of pungent odor
no beating of drums
Stomp in the dirt
pound the rocks
crack the boots
and rip your socks
Cinch your pack on
keep it tight
trudge on scout
and you just might
Make the cut
the dwindling few
the mighty ones
the Philmont Crew.
Written at Ponil Camp at Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico.
Mike Hauser Oct 2020
Everyone in town knows
Philmont is a mad scientist
It's not his little hunchback buddy
Or the crazy smocks in which he's always dressed

It's not the lighting clouds over his house
Or the strange sounds from which his basement grew
No, it's not any of those things
That gives the town it's clue

It's not all of the darkened birds
That hang out on his fence
Or his subscription to Weird Science Weekly
And on what experiments his time is spent

Not even when things always turn up missing
Down at the local graveyard
No, it's the 'HONK' if you love Mad Scientists sticker
On the bumper of his car

— The End —