I put the photos behind me,
Lean back, and once more think of
Those days, never again to be.
That summer, now years far away,
My innocent Scouting times -
Our Summer Camp, its lustrous days.
I am now sixteen: never since then>
Has such a warm glow been felt:
Just fading ashes, now and then.
I saw myself:
Frying fishfingers over a fire,
Aided by one of my new-made friends:
Trying hard to hold onto a tire
Hung from a sturdy tree; the sun
On my back as we hiked a Munroe,
Which we all managed to get 'done';
Returning from tuck-shop, where
One boy, whose name I forget, bought
A whole box of penny-sweets when dared;
At the leisure-centre, double-scoop
Ice-cream in hand after swimming.
Ah! the Summer Camp of a Scout Troop!
Now, having left school and nearing the demise
Of the days into which we developed,
It is only really now that I can realise:
Those warm soft-focus days were easy to defeat.
When offered the apple of tempation
I never gussed how greedily I would eat.
