Gold+Rush+Poems

James worked on a farm in the West He dreamed one day he’d be rich. Then one morning he found something shiny Lying in a ditch.

“It’s gold!” thought James, excited And showed it to farmer Sutter. But he saw that the farmer was not pleased He saw him frown and mutter.

“Please don’t tell anyone” said the farmer “About the gold you found. If people hear about it They’ll come from miles around.

They’ll come to look for gold And trample over my farm. They’ll trample on my vegetables And do my animals harm.”

James said not to worry He would button his lip. But a few days later in a bar He let the secret slip.

He mentioned it to his cousin And that cousin told his brother And that brother told his friend And that friend told another.

So people started to go to the farm To see what could be found. They’d heard rumours of gold nuggets Just lying around.

People really believed That the hills were filled with gold. Men and families packed their things and From the East wagons rolled.

Others came across the sea From Mexico and Peru, From Hawaiii, China, Chile, France, and Britain too.

They left their lives behind them To go and be gold miners. The year was 1849 They were called the forty-niners.

Some people did not look for gold But still got rich enough. They set up shops for miners And sold expensive stuff.

But as time went on Gold became harder to find. There were so many people looking And all the best land had been mined.

And poor old farmer Sutter Looked around his land. His fields were thoroughly trampled And his rivers thoroughly panned.

But now California had changed Not boring old fields, no, There was a big exciting city, The city of San Francisco!

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  ||
 * Klondike Gold Rush ||
 * A rush for gold,