The Days of a Man 1893 



So things went with him till one day he shook 

 The dust of Placer County from his feet, 

 And from the mountains down to town he went 

 To work at other, maybe bigger schemes; 

 And some one at the Bluff bought out his store. 



And I grew tired at last of miner's fare, 



Worn out with washing gold and waiting luck; 



Washing for gold down there at Murderer's Bar, 



Waiting for luck away up on Lone Star 



I came down here to where the Forks unite, 



To this old bridge, and here for twenty years 



I've taken toll from every passer-by. 



I wash a little gold out day by day 

 But mostly watch my river flowing by. 

 Good friends we are, the old North Fork and I; 

 I like to hear him 'neath his melting snows, 

 Calling the little brooks to follow him 

 As down he goes headforemost to the sea. 

 I watch the squirrels on the digger pine 

 Hoarding up stores for days that never come. 



I sit and see the seasons come and go, 



The white cloak slipping from the mountain tops, 



Edged with a fringe of milk-white waterfalls, 



That fade away before the thirsty sun, 



When the green foothills change to gray and brown. 



But best of all I love October days, 



When the blue haze hangs over all the woods, 



And the deep slopes flame out in red and gold, 



As first the black oaks feel the touch of frost. 



I love the live oaks too; they never change, 

 But stand out dark in sunshine as in storm; 

 The only friends I have that do not change. 



Even my river here, the old North Fork, 



Is not the river that I used to know; 



For piles of sand and gravel fill the bars, 



Where grass and flowers grew to the water's edge 



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