I once cut a hole in my tent, to sleep beneath the sky,
I wanted to feel like a sailor of old - using the stars as a guide.
Dad said the hole was an error, the design of my tent unsound,
He reckoned the rain would fill my tent and likely as not, I’d drown.
I laughed so hard I nearly choked; my Dad was pretty funny,
Yet looking back I wish I’d listened, his worries were on the money.
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