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Camping On Walden Pond
Camping On Walden Pond
by Londis Carpenter
copyright (c) 2003 Londis Carpenter
I was reading up on Dave Thoreau, some good John Keats, and a little Poe.
They write about simplicity, a natural life, easy and free.
At dinnertime I marked my place and went to shave and wash my face,
None could foresee what happened next, nor how my life would soon be vexed.
My dear sweet' wife, with eager face, was reading where I’d marked my place.
She read my book and seemed entranced; with each new word how her eyes danced.
Enamored by this written tripe, her soul was filling with delight.
"Simplicity! Simplicity!" The only word she’d speak to me.
And by the time dinner was manned, a camping trip was fully planned.
(Home is where I would rather be; simplicity is not for me).
Thirty years toiling to the bone, I've spent, to build our happy home.
Central air and sturdy beds, closet space and shower heads,
The greatest gifts that men possess were built into my trophy nest.
Why trade my electricity to celebrate simplicity?
No lights!
No toilet!
No TV!
Mosquitoes!
Rain!
Poison Ivy!
Home is the place I’d rather be. Simplicity is not for me.
I care not what these men have found, I don't care to sleep on the ground.
When I retire at sixty-three and draw social security,
I won't be fighting wolves and bears, nor catching fish and setting snares.
I want a proper place to pee.
I want my electricity.
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