Placer mining for the pleasure of it
isn't all beer and skittles by any means
no matter what you may have heard
We drove up from the lower forty-eight
in a beat-up pickup truck to a claim
on the Fortymile near Chicken
We grubbed for gold with a dredge
in the cold river hours on end
separating gravel and sand
like bedlamites driven by visions
of a treasure beyond imagination -
nuggets of the stuff dreams are made of!
Poets and prospectors share in common a lust
for the strike - the sight of gold dust
in the debris and dirt of everyday life!
Michael Pruchnicki
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/placer-mining-on-the-fortymile/
