A Peck of Gold

Dust always blowing about the town, Except when sea-fog laid it down, And I was one of the children told Some of the blowing dust was gold.

All the dust the wind blew high Appeared like gold in the sunset sky, But I was one of the children told Some of the dust was really gold.

Such was life in the Golden Gate: Gold dusted all we drank and ate, And I was one of the children told, ‘We all must eat our peck of gold.’