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Orienteering.
Folder:
8 Line Poems He hid his tobacco tin,
Dads trusty pipe smelling of vanilla as we walked through the forest
The cheeps and pips of the birds in the trees
Watching the children, of both sexes, walk along the dusty path
Our route was foggy, our guidance nil
Yet dad thought he was hip and cool
He lied and followed the map also hid within his pocket
Little did he know that he doomed us to cheat and lose.
