|Gabby Haggen was mining Nevada’s outback;
he wore blue overalls and a beard that was black.
In the hot desert sun he stayed fit to be tied
when a miner he knew unexpectedly died.
Gabby thought of the hardships--the code of the West;
(that he still remained breathing confirmed he was blessed.)
As the buzzards began circling high above,
Gabby offered a prayer, a tribute of love.
(Gabby looked crusty, all right, so threadbare and wore,
yet he had this innate kinship since he was born
for the others who toiled in mines here and there--
Gabby had great compassion which seemed really rare.)
Shifting whispering sands blew fine grit in his face;
Gabby elbowed his way in the limited space
of the vein-laden cavern he sought to explore--
he regretted elbowing for now he was sore.
It was silver--that one motivation all right;
Gabby thought of the ore and he grinned with delight.
He was told by the Cartwrights the where and the when;
he knew Little Joe, Hoss, Adam and of course Ben.
Gabby swore at the buzzards and waved his pickax;
he had suffered his whole life from panic attacks.
Yet with death in the sands and the ominous dawn,
Gabby sucked up true grit and resolved to move on.
Gabby used a red lantern to offset the dark;
cool and dank this thin mine, stuffy, dingy and stark.
With a sack made of burlap on shoulder extant,
he proceeded with, I can instead of, I can’t.
(Partly driven by profit and driven by need,
Gabby sought to attain yet it wasn’t just greed.
Yes, the silver remained for the taking, that’s true;
yet the Grim Reaper’s action was impetus, too.)
Gabby came to a vein and he struck with his pick;
he inhaled clouds of dust and he felt kind of sick.
He knocked over his lantern--it fell with a clink;
in the dark, holding silver, it made Gabby think.
In the rough of Nevada, old Gabby made claim;
other hardships abide--often death is to blame.
Back in town, with the Cartwrights, he had much to tell;
first and foremost the news of the other who fell.