With the rattle of coin, at bay:
When the old man smiled at his old wife’s fear
While he worked for a miner’s pay.
There are none to heckle; there’s nought to blame
But the curse of a gambler’s quest!
And the men pass out, as they lose the game
That we play in the Golden West:
But their thoughts must turn as the days grow late.
In a dream, to some “cocky” patch
Where the old folk stand at their homestead gate,