No More Camping

One day, My canvas tent, It blew away. I do not know to what ex-tent. It briefly flapped like Hamlet's ghost, Or mizzen sail, Or some great sea-bird on the gale. Camping was a sudden non-event. A nearby stream now broke its bank And I was stuck And dank in clinging mud Like some Jemima puddle duck. That's why I left those poles apart, And sodden sleeping bag. I lit a fag And then resolved to seek a life of leisure. A great four-poster was my motto. A warm bed leasuring my grotto, And warmer ladies, to be sure. Come on you Lizzies and you Sadies, There's room enough for four. No camping on a treacherous slope. A horizontal dream is mine. And hope!