I parked the car by the General Store
And the rusting tins of kerosene,
It's rained for a week and then some more
And everything about is green.
With a steaming horse the hopeful trod
This curve around a mountain stream,
From a gushing sluice they sought their god,
The yellow weight, their muddied dream.
There's a broken hearth where miners slept,
They spun this giant engine wheel
Before the flaking brown had crept
Around the boiler's buckled steel.
Footsteps, then a glimpse of chain
And huge grey boulders round and cold,
By blue protruding porcelain
There's talk again of days of gold.
Under Pinkwood trees is "old man's beard"
A hanging tangled mossy shroud
In ghostly white and vision weird
Through drowning mist of mountain cloud.
The final climb the steepest part
With ten more minutes 'til it's done,
Unwrapping lunch with a banging heart
By gold-necked lizards in the sun.
Beneath this ridge is a covered mine.
And towering limbs from fiery ground,
My steps now taken in decline
Past any treasures yet unfound.