The soil here is in summer so I buried my in a tomb of rocks, a plot behind St. church to lay rest the dreams of pitiable men.
With gold to the North, drove out its whores, its and roughnecks. They this camp.
Pa left day to mine. Id him to the gulch, my pan and in hand, a devoted to riches.
The often staged bull and fights near the bar. They a boy entertained when were no hangings to enjoy.
The flooded the quarries, working for than the Whites. My father would the Orientals, yet home reeking of opium.
A of my friends and I left to the creek. The Chinaman there, for gold. We mocked him, and him, I prodded him my knife. He gripped his and in the air. The bullet off of a stone and my leg. I ran bawling to the town.
the Chinaman, clutching the noose.
Law arrived. The sheriff that he be and properly tried.
amassed late at the jail. led, in hand, in his cell. lies. Tempted leaves, the his arm the bars.
The lynch mob swiftly the exposed hand. wrapped the collar his neck. The horde on the rope, Chinaman and choked, his brains dashed the wall.
Soon all the gold mines but that blood did. Red still stains the jail wall. was never tried, none a foreigner, but I saw in his eyes. With all the spent, the left the town yet I stayed to here still. When Father of drink I did not for him. I pray the unburdens his sins.
I pray that someone remain to bury me. I that someone will remain.