Crow Creek Poem by Mark Heathcote

Imagine a gold vein reacquired
Imagine bedding down cold and tired
In a tent beside the sluice boxes
Of Crow Creek, listening to foxes

Whilst also keeping a watch for bear
Looking for that precious of metals rare
Where men blasted away hills and banks
Damming these rivers with rough-cut planks

To fill their coffers by the riverbanks
Imagine once a time when ranks
Of men with desperate panning souls
Waded like sad, sorrowful voles.

With what we'd coin now as begging bowls
It wasn't fun in these hellholes?
Alaska isn't easy on busied knees.
Its riches don't do much to please.