Scout Camp
There is the path, a trail to the woods
Compacted by thousands and thousands of feet
To observe wildlife or trees or flowers
Perhaps only to be by oneself and think.
The trail to the campfire, of fun, of inspiration.
And to many, of hallowed memory.
For fifty years its magic has been wrought
Upon the minds and souls of those who partook.
Its graduates scattered over the globe.
Their developed skills and intellect unsurpassed.
Some still remembering with nostalgic grace
Some left their lives and blood on foreign soil.
To those to whom it was just a place
For summer camp, to win a badge or two
Theirs is the loss – not the failure of the trail.
For herein was a place to try ones soul.
The letters and the memories with me shared
Have said to me – a part of each remained.
Names come to mind – of Shag, and Buck, and Ike,
And Paul. There’s PeeWee, and Gently, and Drip,
Perin, and Carl, and Boris, and Bob, and Ollie
And dozens and dozens more. Two Feather and his
Brother Pin Feather. Each has a special niche
In the garden of memory which is my life.
These were the leaders in whom I placed my trust
And likely the trust and regard returned.
Everyone to make me proud that leadership
Given was in some measure passed on.
For this was the purpose of the path, the trail
To help each one find his own place in life.