Nevada Gold

The trail along which we now ride Was made by folks with visions bold, A westward moving human tide, Who nurtured dreams of farms or gold. From the promise of day’s first light, Through somber sand and sage, they rode In savage heat and gelid night, Bound for the distant Mother Lode. Their deep grooved ruts are now obscure Along the winding desert track Where traveled once the pioneers In some imagined days, way back. For those who passed, the dreams are done; And most who failed left tales untold With wagon wheels and oxen bones And wood crosses above their own. In the debris of that vast land Lay a pink bottle, half in sand, Which sparkled in the twilight gold. It held a faded note which told: “Tis a helluva place where I have died. I did not make it, but I’m glad I tried.” 4/1/19/ 2019 Poetry Marathon Final Placement / Sponsor: Mark Toney