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A Peck of Gold

by
 Dust always blowing about the town,
Except when sea-fog laid it down,
And I was one of the children told
Some of the blowing dust was gold.
All the dust the wind blew high Appeared like god in the sunset sky, But I was one of the children told Some of the dust was really gold.
Such was life in the Golden Gate: Gold dusted all we drank and ate, And I was one of the children told, 'We all must eat our peck of gold.
'

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