To chase unrefined gold
You'll have to Work and dig up
Maybe one day before you grow old
You"ll find some stones or old cup
Maybe some old dinosaurs bones
Or antiques buried beneath the earth
Oh the Dead, named in solemn tones
Oh how sad if this is our faith
How worthless then are our riches?
How useful then is the man of God
And the sad eulogy he preaches
Words about you, dead, not real word
From you, heard by many people
The dearly beloved you left behind
Those left here to die in the struggle.
Of whom no one else cares to mind.
Call them the real goldrush victims
Who will never see an ounce of gold
Only the shinny and valuable items
Secured in big vaults yet to behold.

©IvanBrooksPoetry
15/10/2018