Let’s camp down where the river flows bright.
under the sheen of a full moon, white,
make shadow figures by camp fire light,
see what imaginings they may ignite.
View in the feathers of smoke drifting there,
something enchanting, something as rare,
as fairy tails spun in deep evening’s air,
something our hearts could capture and share.
The sparks fly away leaving traces of trails,
patterns for brief seconds in midnight veils,
composed where the star spattered canvas entails,
a legend till morning breaks pale,
washes the whimsy from out of our hearts,
dying away as the spirit departs,
loses itself as a new day starts,
In dawn, when that magic departs.
In dawn, when that magic departs
under the sheen of a full moon, white,
make shadow figures by camp fire light,
see what imaginings they may ignite.
View in the feathers of smoke drifting there,
something enchanting, something as rare,
as fairy tails spun in deep evening’s air,
something our hearts could capture and share.
The sparks fly away leaving traces of trails,
patterns for brief seconds in midnight veils,
composed where the star spattered canvas entails,
a legend till morning breaks pale,
washes the whimsy from out of our hearts,
dying away as the spirit departs,
loses itself as a new day starts,
In dawn, when that magic departs.
In dawn, when that magic departs
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