A Little Poem

Fortune Hunt


To climb the mountain of my mind
Is pleasure not declined,
A Gold Bug map to “X” the spot
That only I may find.


Who drew the map is no concern:
It found me on the street;
A raving Poet lost it there
Whose like I’ll never meet.


Uncanny dream remembers me,
But words like finger-holds
Will toil and sweat and gasp for breath
As summit’s truth unfolds. 




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