Trek of Insanity (as Robert Service word-painted it)

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We lept to the shore

From our strange craft

Large Rapids before us

We knew.

The days of dull drifting

A memory.

And numbers had failed

Coming through.

No time for the burials

Respectful.

Just time to divide

All their loot.

And crimes done

So numerous, disdainful.

This lust for the gold

Left strange fruit.

A potful of java

A warm fire, songs

Faking some cheer.

But Death still

Awaited His dinners.

Before ere the Dawson 

Drew near.

Yes Dawson.

The whiskey and women.

The foolishness bought

With one’s poke.

And would there be

Castles awaiting?

Or rather Fate’s

Pitiful joke.

The toss of a life

In the frozen.

The loss of wife

Children and Home.

The thrill of those

Curtained skies calling.

The call of the harpies

To roam.


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