I love to camp in these hills of mine.
Sometimes hike
There is nothing like
the way they sparkle.
The noon-sun, hot, shimmers
casting it's rays
off of Budlight cans
and broken Sobee bottles
The mid-day heat
can not compete
with the plastic Smiths bags
waving in the breeze
from one or two trees.
And the underwear in
that scrub-oak grove
does not belong to me.
Sometimes hike
There is nothing like
the way they sparkle.
The noon-sun, hot, shimmers
casting it's rays
off of Budlight cans
and broken Sobee bottles
The mid-day heat
can not compete
with the plastic Smiths bags
waving in the breeze
from one or two trees.
And the underwear in
that scrub-oak grove
does not belong to me.
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