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A rush for
gold,
Was a rush so bold,
For the men in Klondike days,
For they said, "Henceforth,
We are heading North,
And we hope that it will pay."
The way
was rough,
And a few were tough,
But so many others died,
And the ones who stayed,
Found it seldom paid,
For it seems some people lied.
For they
were told,
Streets were paved with gold,
They could go up there and take,
But the ones who took,
Were most often crooks,
And their promises were fake.
In
Seattle town,
Miners headed down,
To equip themselves with goods,
But with prices high,
It was hard to buy,
Yet they bought the things they could.
There was
little gold,
For the men so bold,
As they worked the mines for pay,
They had had enough,
Doing work so tough,
And they said they wouldn't stay.
Now
there's nothing left,
In this land bereft,
Of the glory of its day,
But in Dawson town,
Where the gold was found,
Mining still goes on today.
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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