The Old Prospector

Written for:  the Sunday Whirl #178
Words:  crossed, searching, miner, give, ocean, old, heart, mind, expression, keep, live, gold

The search ended
at last. The old
prospector had crossed
much land, and mined
many hills, his expression
effecting a light of hope,
which he kept alive
in his heart. How certain
he was of striking gold.
He had given his all,
but now the ocean
of his childhood called.
He would follow its sound,
too weary in body and mind
to continue a young man’s
pipe dreams.

About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
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3 Responses to The Old Prospector

  1. Old Egg says:

    That primal call of the sea, how it grips so many of us. Hopes and dreams are often shattered with age, then we realise what was important after all. Loved it.


  2. veronicabalfourpaul says:

    I liked the idea of the old miner heading to the ocean, his fantasy of gold spent.

    Liked by 1 person

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