The Calaveras River

The Calaveras River flows,

Carrying history to the west.

When I was young before the internet,

It was my life, at best…

I fly fished for steel head trout,

Caught the greatest stories ever told…

Sat on the shore with a copper pan,

And filled glass vials with panned gold.

The eroded “River of Skulls” exposed,

Skeleton stacks on an ancient burial mound…

The end of an historical era collided with

The new happiness I’d found.

That day you fell into the current,

Disappearing in rapids downstream;

I celebrated you survived the flow,

Mourning later you drowned the dream.