Campfire
We looked forward to our campfire
Each time we camped back then
We gathered around every one
And enjoyed our time their spent
We split the wood with axes
And a wedge of perfect size
It was a rite of passage
That the young men all survived
I can still smell the oak
That rose from the site
With the smoke in our clothes
And watering our eyes
We roasted many weenies
And cooked a hearty stew
It warmed us deep inside
As few things really do
We left our campfire doused
And were thankful for our time
We respected all about
With the next guy there in mind