Just Camping

Camping

Emerging from my canvas palace
I limp to greet the dawn.
The rest I came for,
Has deserted my aching lumber bones.

The bracing call of country morning,
The porous, sodden bedding left behind.
My sole intent to silence that bloody chirping chorus
That poets seem to love so well.

As I turn and face my kingdom,
I scan once again the rickety mansion.
More like the house that Jack Built
Than a canvass framed picture of constructed wonder.

Why do we do this?
Suffer every year?
Leave our waterproof, stone built home
For a humble sheet of leaking cloth