The Colors of Camp

The wood is worn

From laughter and years.

The paint is faded

From conversations and tears.

The squeals and shouts

Seep out from the door

Accompanied by

a little one’s snore.

A tornado of color

Overtook the room.

Bunks, bags, and beds.

Carelessly strewn.

The bathroom’s a graveyard

From battles lost.

The victors fought hard

For they knew of the cost.

The mud on their faces

Was caked on with sweat.

Their eyes began drooping

While slumber, she threat.