Here's a poem I wrote for a competition that I didn't win.
Summer Camp
The sun slips serenely down
As we stare at the calm lake
Miles away from nearest town.
Here’s to the moments we make.
Yet it is a fleeting thing.
This memory by water
Shall be tucked underneath wing
Or on mind’s inky blotter.
But we are here in the now
Together on this low bough
And I swear I’ll remember
Til my last dying ember.
(Prompt by a contest I can't remember, but encouraged by Emily Kleeman)
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