Cluadio

Once every year i return to this place, yet now I must try to bid it farewell. The sad truth remains that i now must face: that the good times are just stories to tell. From my first time here up on Dan Boone hill I strived to enjoy each moment i had. Now with pathfinders i do what i will and the times in between have not been bad. I've caught more fish than others wish to count and I've earned all the badges that i can. The days left become a smaller amount as i turn from a boy into a man. The place where i spent many summers week, I'll always remember, Camp Crooked Creek.

Glowing globes of flowers grow where hikers of the skies go. How they manage, I don't know. It's a Mystery of spring Clinging fast to rocky ledge giving home to birds in fledge. a wonder there on trails edge. A pearl of the mountain land.

If I were a sailor I'd make the sea mine and live out the dream that feels so divine. If I were an artist I'd picture the truth about ancient past and the joys of youth. If I were a fighter I'd act with plans to save the people of mistreated lands. If I were a dreamer I'd Think of a time where peace was common and hate was a crime. This world has great people who've answered the call. Their skills bring us hope, for one and for all.

Once, there were two figures: a River and a Raindrop. The River was of simple beginnings; his roots were just a trickle. However he was strong willed and determined to reach his destination. No mountain or forest or hillside could deter him. In his persistence he would go around or he would go through. Now the Raindrop was a being of a lofty persuasion. She would float wherever the wind would take her and usually fall upon great things. She had seen every country, every continent and every body of water possible. She had experienced great praise and harsh accusations, but in the end she was content. One day, the Raindrop fell upon the ban

As the mind can dance it runs and flies and soars, sees all new places and opens unseen doors. It has its own world a place of new designe. It's calm and it's cool a fantasy of mine. In my rhelm of dreams to world is my oyster. I fly to the moon on the fastest coaster. But the truth is so clear and dreams are never real, they're our hopes and fears stories our minds reveal.

What is there that I could say about her? As if small words could mean that much to me. This goddess inspires thoughts of what could be, And fills my eyes with visions of wonder. Grace which makes even jealous gods chatter, And smile that shines more than the sun to see. A voice which when used makes fighters agree; Beauty which strikes Olympus asunder. Oh St. Valentine, tell me my future. Take consideration of my small plea. That I not wait for an eternity, And if my cause is gone may I deter. Though, if hope be had or all hope be lost Happiness is worth whatever the cost.

This land is barren and all here is dead. There’s no longer means for life to be fed. Yet one hope breaks forth from out of the ground and keeps the small life that it now has found. So all who have ears should take this with heed. If hope’s what you want, than life’s what you need.

A relaxing chair A light breath of air Today was a long day Puff a smoke Hear a joke Not good enough to laugh Sit at the bar Few here so far Yet the saxophone still plays With each breath I hear Melts music in my ear And I know, for now, it’s cool

Hey there jazz man stand there so smooth you know your ways you know your groove Play it, blow it lets hear your tune your souls in the sound so we know its you Please now, jazz man teach us your ways so the sound doesn't stop at the end of the day