Shiloh

The mountains are calling
And I must go

To where
the days are long
and hot, and the nights
are short and cold. Where
the great smells of food pour
out of the thunder dome windows.
To the campfire songs, and all that sing-along.

The mountains are calling, And I must go

To the same familiar bus ride, with all our names written
in the dust on the sides, to the breeze in the trees, and
the bears we only rarely see.

The mountains are calling, And I must go

To drink tea with my counselors, and
hike endless miles on the trail.
To the rivers and
Roads

To hear the sound of bees,
and the constant rocking of the
crazy creeks. To eat chocolate cake,
and that famous grilled cheese, that
always seems to be better every year.
To see the fish in the creek, and pinch at
the bothersome ticks that I always seem to see.

The mountains are calling And I must go

To my favorite place, where the only electricity
are those in the bathrooms, and we write
letters to our parents, full of stories.

The mountains are calling And I must go

To see my closest friends once
again, at my camp,
camp Shiloh.