We live up the street from a 100 acre
Boy Scout camp.
I'll not show you the lodge and tents and firepits,
but rather the untouched-by-man acres:
Sun glow through the wild grasses
Pathways to nowhere,
one of these led to Undergound Tom's place,
it's all caved in now.
Looking back toward the meadow,
the obstacle course is off to the right.
Biking along the paths to my favorite spot:
there are millions of these,
you just have to be willing to stoop.
Which, for the sake of blueberry muffins all winter,
In the big picture it's land in a high-end resort,
with the potential to make someone a ton of money,
Focused in, it's a haven, a wilderness for the scouts,
a place to pick blueberries.
I'd so appreciate your signature on a petition
to keep it that way.
The blueberries can't speak for themselves.