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Posted by MFish

The slap of my feet, hitting the ground,
Is the only noise I hear all around,
Until the expelling of my out going breath,
Accompanied by cloudlet of sound.
As the ground rushes up to my feet,
A refreshing gulp of the cold Winter air,
The warmth of my hat, covering ear and hair.
When exercising, in the Winter is here,
As the air warms, my breath will disappear.

There are some stories, quite old,
About going prospecting for gold.
I'm sure you have heard them before,
As they are now part of Western Lore.
Searching through forests and bare hillside;
Walking most always but an occasional ride.
Searching and searching in rocks that erode,
Looking for the very elusive, "Mother Lode."
Hearing these tales, while around a fire,
Trying to determine if true or a liar.
No one will tell you, where it is found.
Only one place, deep in the ground.

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