Treasure of San
In a whaler's pub in Boston town
Over grogs five fingers tall
They listened hard to a tale of
Long lost in San Cristobal.
pluck and a song to sing
And nary a coin in the purse
The father and son set out to find
A treasure that bore a curse.
Cristobal was a banshee haunt
As Navajos had avowed
Death to the man that had touched
And a howling sky for his shroud.
Of the two
'twas the son who found the trove
And he was the first to die
In a way that brought a lashing
And a tear to the father's eyes.
And the two
of them rest in peace
Where barren dreams were sewn
A howling wind blows dust against
The shamrock on their stone.
gold there was naught
But the father's love for his son
Carried shining bright beyond the
Long after their grief was done.
Rawhide CBS TV - November 7, 1963
Copyright ©1995- 2021 Ostenta Fine Arts and the author