They gather in the woods
Cult-like in their
Desire to blend in
With the foreground scenery
Following their instincts
Rubbing sticks together
A magic ritual with
Recursive bow
Writing sonnets
To sweethearts back home
William tells about the apples
& The gravity of the situation
Stringing along cans
Praying Prometheus bestows
Warm welcomes
And well wishes
Blessed are the peacekeepers
The banner reads
Staked deeply in the ground
Pitching tents close by the fire
Black bears hunting snickers bars
Bags hung high in the trees
Out of sight; abruptly in mind
Shot to the heart in shock
Face to face with curiousness
Departure sanctioned by grace
Packing up at dawn
They collect their fares
Ensuring the bears have nothing
But footsteps to feast on
And the grounds
Are kept better
Than upon arrival
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