The snowy peaks, dawn’s early light,
An eagle spreads its wings in flight.
Those Colorado mountain trips,
Steep narrow roads, white knuckle grips.
The golden visions from the past,
They still remain, endure, and last.
An old abandoned mountain pass,
Now just two ruts hold back the grass.
A narrow rail, a shaft, a beam,
A lonely hut beside a stream,
The bygone dreams of wealth and fame,
So many rushed to stake a claim.
Abandoned towns, grey boards and dust,
The gold rush days gave way to rust.
The peaks remain, men live and die,
The tales live on from days gone by.