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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required This piece was inspired by a journal left behind by an adventurous young man that elected to take his wife and two young children, by ox-drawn wagon, to California, in the early 1850s, expecting to discover enough gold to afford his family a prosperous life. But, sadly…having failed to find so much as a trace - and - with his confidence diminished to where even hoping seemed pointless - reluctantly certain they would never make it back to the meager, but adequate, cabin they had abandoned in southern Tennessee two long years before - his sole intent was to provide his and his wife's next of kin with an explanation as to how their demise came to pass. Victims of - Another “Desert’s Tale” Heading home from whence we’d left a long two years before - whatever “treasure” hiding in the hills we’d picked apart Had totally eluded us…and so…despite the lore… We’d fin’ly given up, and planned to make a brand new start. A couple hundred miles back a stretch of rocky road had cracked a wheel so we’d been forced to use our only spare. We’d used the wagon’s tongue and - after lightening up its load - raised ‘er up just high enough to manage the repair. The burning sun - which could have passed for a giant gold doubloon - found itself meandering through an all but cloudless sky, When…as shadows all but disappeared - (‘twas close to noon)… We learned our barrel of water’d sprung a leak - and now was dry! A couple bags of cornmeal and another few of flour were all that now remained with which to feed our hungry group, When…just as we were wondering if we’d reached our final hour… we spotted, near the distant hills, a roving cavalry troop. Very little lay between the soldiers and our trail so we assumed they’d spot the cloud of dust our wagon made, But as they coursed across the dunes, alas - to no avail… We stood and watched what likely was our final savior fade. Drifting into nothingness, we watched them disappear, knowing that if, very soon, some water wasn’t found… All of us were bound to die…and not too far from here… an all-too-common ending - with which “desert’s tales” abound. Every time we slowly pass another fleshless skull that blowing sand has peeled to bone and months of sun has bleached… The oxen are reminded, if the wagon which they pull - falls apart before a source of water can been reached, They - along with all of us - will die of thirst...then…someone else, eventually, will happen down this trail… Find our bodies…read this log - that I’ve been filling in - and learn that we were victims of --- another “desert’s tale”! Murdered -- like so many that were lured by dreams of gold, even though they clearly understood that they might die! Of course……you’d not be reading this -- had we avoided death! Cyrus Baxter - 1857 - late July. PS: I've now got 4 new Audio-CDs - @ 4 1/2 hours each = (62 diversely varied pieces). They’re listed on EBAY - under - “Mark Stellinga Poetry” - or available by simply contacting me at -- mark@writerofbooks.com -- should those of you who enjoy listening to poems as well as reading them - and particularly those of you that travel - care to be so entertained. (We use safe and simple - PayPal) Cheers, Mark
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