The Hunt for Roxy

In the beautiful Davis mountains we met once again
A week of relaxing, catching up with old friends,
Some coffee and donuts, an occasional poem,
Some music and laughter, now time to head home.

As the campers were waking one last quiet morn,
We heard Diane calling, sounding forlorn.
Roxy! Sweet Roxy! Oh where can you be?
I can’t find my Roxy! Would you please help me?

We searched in the bushes, we searched up the road,
We hollered and called, soon others were told.
Kids got on their bikes, others looked behind trees.
Some looked under cars, bent down on their knees.

The rangers are here! They’ll spread the alarm!
Oh Roxy! Dear Roxy! We hope you aren’t harmed.
A young girl was seen walking up the creek bed.
I asked what she’s doing, looking for Roxy, she said.

She couldn’t go far as we hunted and chased,
Though all our efforts had found not a trace.
To the Rita Casita some guys went to look,
To thoroughly explore each cranny and nook.

They searched and they looked everywhere they said,
Then once again, bending, looked under the bed.
When what to their wondering eyes did they see?
The twinkle of two eyes! There she is! ROXY!