Gold Rush Dreams

Under wide Montana skies, the sun's fading slow

An old man with a twinkle, his eyes forever glow

Sits by the fire with him, bending that breeze in the wood

Of a time when gold run wild, and every heart understood death

He speaks of dusty trails, and rivers running deep

Of nights in barren canyons, where ghosts of miners sleep

His voice a winding river, that flows with tales untold

Of fortune, favor, feud, and dreams gone cold

Gold rush dreams, and heartache, thunder, moonlit nights

Of fools' hopes, littering like the morning lights