Donner's Snow Globe
They trudged through seasons
dreaming in honey and gold
Some perished in the desert
for the going was very slow.
The holy 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 red hawk's song away.
Then the snow came with a galloping gait.
Snowflakes turning into ice wolves
and severed every last vein.
Bogged down in a valley of growling death.
The cattle were slaughtered-the horses were next.
They ate bark off of trees-boiled the souls off their boots.
Even prayers perish when there's not enough faith and food.
Amidst this greatest opaque of hopelessness.
The options were as clear as they were dreadful.
To slowly rot away or filet up the ghosts of the dead.
Faith finally collapsed in that devil's icy blue snag.
Their loyal Indian guides were never heard from again.
To this day, even angels stay away from the souls of Donner's Pass.
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