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Poem

They trudged through seasons
dreaming in honey and gold
some perished in the desert 
for the going was very slow 
the wholly damned took the shortcut.
on a trail called the ragged unknown.

One final hurdle-a great mountain range.
They could smell the gold and honey
just a hawk's song away.
Then the snow came
to slowly choke off the vein
the snow came to chase all dreams away.

Bogged down in a valley of growling death.
The cattle were slaughtered-the horses were next. 
They ate bark off trees-boiled the souls off their boots.
but even prayers perish when there's not enough food...
Amidst the great opaque the options were clear,
To slowly rot or filet up the dead...
(their Indian guides were never heard from again).
Hope finally died in that devil's snow globe. 
just a heartbeat away, just below Donner's pass.

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