We went camping on a nice, quiet beach
To see if the night sky had stuff to teach.
A ready-made fire pit, waiting for the logs,
Took away the damp, the wet and the sogs.
We got hungry: Potatoes out!
Get the tinfoil while sipping some stout.
Wrap the potatoes in cheese and foil,
Drown them in the embers and the sooty, ashy soil.
While you wait, toast some wurst,
Not in the flames, the flavors won’t burst.
The embers are the good place with the magic,
If you understand, the results are sausagic.
The fire died out, revealing our treasure,
Our mouths were drooling by no small measure.
Tin foil gleaming faintly in the night,
Something swooshed by, it was fast and bright.
It was gone and so were the wraps,
The tin foil bird got its eggs back, perhaps.