Chapter 1

SNOW

The snow was falling without care
And all the miners did was stare
At the great expanse as seen,
A blur to eyes that blocked the sheen.

Then once again two miners moved
To the table bound and grooved
And held their pokes close at hand
And pictured life as only grand.

For weeks they had been snow bound here
But in the cabin, with food near,
Their worries seemed faint and few
But still the long, hard winter grew.

Grew longer as the days wore on
And as one hummed his favorite song
The others stopped with stoic glare
And grimaced at the notes he shared.

Then Bill looked up from his task
Of making biscuits that would last
Two or three weeks or so
If near the window and the snow.

He paused from humming his happy tune
And then the others, pretty soon,
Went back to weighing of their gold
With just a silent look to scold.

Each had his poke of equal share
And many days they spent with care
To once again count their loot
And savor well there labor's fruit.

Bart with a nagging, nasty cold
Took his poke of precious gold
And put it underneath his cot
And laid on it, he slept a lot.

Tommy, the young one, paused to act
As some beast caught in a trap
And finally in exasperation
Said to Bill with some elation,

"It's time for meat, don't you agree?
That salted pork is boring me,
I'll take the rifle for a bit
And see what critter I can hit."

Bill looked at Tom in blank expression
And said,"0kay," in his slow fashion
And continued cutting biscuits that
Would sure taste good sopped in some fat.

Although the snow, at five feet plus,
Caused Tommy then to spit and cuss
He finally made it out the door
And Bart asked, "What's he hunting for?"

"Don't know," said Bill without expression,
"Don't care," he made his bland confession.
"Did he take his gold with him?"
And Bill looked up without a grin.

"You know a few more grains of gold
In each our pokes would help when old
And feeble in our closing days,
Old stallions then turned out to graze."

Bill looked at Bart in odd expression
But didn't answer his last question
And went back again to rolling dough
And looking out at clean white snow.

Neither one said another word
And as time passed neither heard
The others words with much reflection
Their thoughts then found a new direction.

~Robert E Browne~