Wednesday, 23 October 2013

My Camp Senses Poem

Lake Rotoma Camp

The clear, shimmering water as I arrive at Rotoma.
The stinky stench of the portaloos as I sleep.
The sausages sizzle on the barbeque.
The rough, rocky sand through my toes.
The warm tingling milo going down my throat.
I think Lake Rotoma was the best camp ever.
Senna


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