The tent…


Just a little ode to fabric here; how, when camping, such seclusion and protection can come from but a few craftily stitched sheets of canvas…

The tent is up,

The rain comes down.

The walls, so taut

Provide the sound

Of nature’s rushing,

Gushing fury,

Pounding, stabbing

Right above me.

Try as it might,

And try it will,

The slight thin sheet

Pulls tighter still;

The spikes of water,

Though downward sent,

Don’t quite reach us

In the tent.

Check out my book about wild-camping, cycling & busking HERE

And for a monthly newsletter of poems, songs, travel articles, etc. click HERE


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