Campsite 3

Set the ground Under me on fire I don't care if summer Ends in July or Migrations begin Months in advance These feet need moving Leave the rest to chance I've always thought that I Would know the change in tune But as the leaves gather at my feet I find that I have to make room I've just started Scaling the walls Of the well that I fell down Waiting for a call To deliver the water I'd been holding for some time Knowing it wasn't mine I've always thought that I Would know the change in tune But as the leaves gather at my feet I find that I have to make room