A song for campers

I still can remember,
from the rosy bottomless well,
the colors of the rainbow,
how in the rain they swelled.

And the mellow yellow marshmallows,
tempering away,
in the forest fire we made, 

burning hay.

And the light of the skyline,
against the cloudy moon,
the breeze of the time line,
it took us all the way past June.

And the fireflies, they scintillated,
in the evening that they created,
and the petals poured out,
of the night flower as it sung,
smug in its bed,
comfortably numb.

And the morning dew that wet the soil, 

the worms we squashed, 

counting the miles,

The songs she sang,  

and the love that smelt, 

of fresh air and grassy reserves.