The Desert Rat

by

A poet is a miner of his mind and soul

Like a prospector is a miner for gold

Back in 1849 a lonely man headed West

To find the desert gold his all obsessing quest

Until one day desperation carried him too far

His water and luck low from lusting yellow dust

He found a covered wagon in the hot sun's glow

With Father, Mother, and Daughter thirsting below

Draw horses dead from no water scarce as gold

Reviving them he gazed into the young girl's soul

And the love of his life her sad eyes did unfold

Feeling a sense of doom his plan to them he told

Travel by night and avoid the hot sun's scold

Ride my mule and when he stops walk on

Saving water four nights will see you through

To the little river where once the cattails grew

I'll get help from Indians don't worry about me

He lied knowing no indians who were as dumb as he

Brave men will die to save an innocent girl's pride

Early that night he watched them ride out of sight

There in the last of the cold Desert's light

His old mule braying his last heartfelt goodbyes

He followed in the distance with weakening resistance

And prayed that God would lend them assistance

They made the river Owens with death closely stalking

And survived the fiery furnace known as Devil's Fleu

She married a godly man whose posterity grew and grew

While far behind beneath the shifting sand

Rest the unknown lover whose love she never knew

Where the bleached bones of a miner forty-niner

lie hidden with their arm around his mule.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at The Saucer of Black Gold
by: Hay Machine
from: Dublin, Ireland

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