Sled Dog
Wind whipped his face, the dogs, they ran
Across bleak-white ice and snow,
Paid in cash by Rand McCorchoran
To Dawson, he would go.
Delivering mail, medicine, and booze
To a town still on the grow,
Earning tips from richer folk
Prospectors flush with gold
But the briefest hint of red arose
Catching his cold glance,
Broke the passage of the miles
Broke the driver’s trance.
The slight trail, it followed them
Like tiny, reddened ants.
It ran along up to the dogs
Stopping at old Nance.
The husky whined, and looked to him
Her body gaunt and thin,
From nine long years here at his side
Through toil, frost, and sin.
From countless scrapes and brouhahas
Saving each other’s skin
He no longer saw his favorite sight:
Nance’s toothy, husky grin.
He sighed aloud and cursed the world
Knowing what should be done.
He shed his gloves and searched a pack,
There finding his old gun.
His hand it trembled at the thought,
Thinking to distant dawns
When he and Nance took on the word
Back when it had all begun.
With just one dog at his side,
And a rifle worn and old
They marched up north, to try their luck
To seek out Yukon gold.
He’d found no ore out in the wild
But Nance, so proud and bold
Showed him how to carve a life
From the endless ice and cold.
The gun it slipped into his belt,
He could not even pretend
That he could even point it al
His oldest, truest friend.
He brought of Nance up on the sled,
And the others he did send
They raced to Dawson seven strong,
This would not be her end.
Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2017
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