Year 8 Camp

• Patrick Foster, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2010

Twas a silent night the air was still
Was Fortescue were the hell fell ill
This fiend of mischief and trouble
Lurks for a feed from the sleeping huddle
Ol’ shmiddy lay quiet keeping it P.G
While the monster outside remains a mystery
Little did I know while I lay slumber
This beast grew its omnivorous hunger
“Reeeeech” screamed this beast of claw
As it struck the tent with a fatal sore
I perk awake in a cold sweat
The blood boil worm in the dark tent
A torch within my grasp
A “Reeeech” getting closer then passed
The reechs stoped but the ruffling hoped
I exited my tent to fend the beast
And it glared at like I was its feast
But with a smash and a POW
This possum was no how
A “reech” of terror a bullet of fluff
This possum was now a mist of dust.
Accomplished I felt a warrior at heart
Little did I know this possum was smart
A six inch clever a strike at my back
the possum had won the fatal attack