an ode to camping

My friend Aaron just sent this in one of his always-funny "Greetings from New York" emails. Apparently he's a poet too. Quite a work of genius, if you ask me.

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An Ode to Camping

Oh camping, why do I like thee?
It seems every insect is out to get me.
Whether tick, or a fly or a mosquito or two,
They bite and they munch, and don't care what I do.

Oh camping, why do I like thee?
When just recently, I got attacked by a tree.
Slowly it fell on top of my head,
It hurt quite a bit, but at least I'm not dead.

Oh camping, why do I like thee?
You'd think a campfire would make me care free.
Instead I just cough, and get smoke in my eyes,
And wish I was warmer, or cooler, or inside.

Oh camping, why do I like thee?
When my sleep is unpleasant as unpleasant can be.
I am cold and I'm damp, and can't stay on my pad,
And the pee in my bladder is making me mad.

Oh camping, why do I like thee?
Why is it to you that I constantly flee?
No bills, no distractions, no annoying people you say?
Now I understand, well, perhaps I will stay.

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Now is that great or is it great!? Aaron, I wish I had a fraction of your poetry skillz...

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