Six Days Shall Thou Paddle And Pack, But On The Seventh Thou Shall Wash Thy Socks Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

The river calls, the sun shines bright,
Six days we paddle, morn till night.
The tent we pitch, the fire we make,
Adventures bloom for goodness sake.

We hike and climb, through woods so deep,
While worries drift away in sleep.
The water flows, a steady guide,
With paddle strong, we bravely ride.

But when the week is nearly done,
And setting of the weary sun,
The paddles rest, the packs unpacked,
A different duty must be tracked.

No grand adventure, bold and new,
Just a humble task, a chore to do.
For six days toil, a muddy scene,
The seventh day, our socks we clean!

Six days the river called to roam,
Paddle strong, and make it home.
Pack the gear, and find the way,
Underneath the sun's warm ray.

Six days of journey, fast and free,
But seventh day, a different decree.
Washing socks, all worn and grim,
The river's plea, now soft and dim.

But listen close, a rule to keep,
While river slumbers, calm and deep.
Two hundred feet away you'll go,
To scrub and rinse, and watch them flow.

Don't let the suds pollute the stream,
Keep water pure, a waking dream.
Six days you played, now give it back,
And leave no trace upon the track.

Two hundred feet, a mindful stride,
Away from waters, clear and wide.
Protect the source, so clean and bright,
Then rest your soul, sleep well tonight.


T.M.Solvang