Of Books and Scribes there are no end:This Plague--and who can doubt it?Dismays me so, I've sadly pennedAnother book about it.
The Wanderlust has got me... by the belly-aching fire
A half-dead thing in a stark dead world, clean mad for the muck called gold.
Yet it isn't the gold that I'm wantingSo much as just finding the gold.It's the great, big, broad land 'way up yonder,It's the forests where silence has lease;It's the beauty that thrills me with wonder,It's the stillness that fills me with peace.
A half-dead thing in a stark, dead world, clean mad for the muck called gold;While high overhead, green, yellow and red, the North Lights swept in bars?-Then you've a hunch was the music meant...hunger and night and the stars.
It’s the steady, quiet, plodding ones who win in the lifelong race.
This is the Law of the Yukon that only the strong shall thrive That surely the weak shall perish and only the fit survive.
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