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TReasure Island

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We used to read, when youngsters, stirring tales of pirates bold,
With their bags of buried treasure and the hoards of hidden gold.

And, in imagination, we would sail the southern sea
And dream of deeds of valor and think what fun 'twould be

To join the bold, bad buccaneers; be captain of the band,
And find a little island with a coral reef and sand,

With a cunning little harbor, where our ship could not be found,
And there we'd hide the treasure, in a cave 'way underground.

And there we'd fight the natives, and kill them by the score,
And then set sail and roam the sea until we found some more.

We loved such tales as these, and, even now, when we are old,
The thought of such an island makes us wish those pirates bold

Had left some hidden treasure caves a little nearer home,
So we could go and find them, and not have so far to roam.

Now, if you'll listen carefully, I'll tell what I know
About a treasure island you can find it you will go

To a lake among the mountains that the Indians knew so well,
Where, even to the present day, the Indian spirits dwell.

There's a little wonder island in a corner of the lake;
It is close to Sleeper's Island and not far from Rattlesnake.

You can see it from Mount Major, when it's clear and sunny weather,
And it's there the Mishe Mokwa campers love to get together.

There are hoards of golden sunshine and a treasure store of health,
And you get it all for nothing, though it's worth all kinds of wealth.

And there we live the simple life that only campers know,
With those happy, carefree youngsters with their faces all aglow.

The time goes by too rapidly, so filled up are the days
With work and play that helps us all in many, many ways.

The work is so enjoyable that when the summer's done
We really find, instead of work, we've had a lot of fun.

We do not wear our Sunday clothes, nor have our trousers pressed,
We only need a coat of tan to be correctly dressed.

Oh! it's pippin' in the summer-time to be on Treasure Isle.
It's got all other kinds of pleasure beaten by a mile.

If you ask me what I'm going to do when summer comes again,
I'm going to pack my duffel bag and take an early train

And get to Treasure Island just as quickly as can be,
For there isn't any island in the world I'd rather see.

— Arthur Hammond.


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