Rush of the bold, who toiled for gold,
On Alaska's final frontier,
Bawdy lads told of blood-chilling cold,
Embroiled over whiskey and beer;
Riches exuded, from the wild-eyed deluded
Trappers of fur bearing seals,
Whilst women denuded, danced and eluded,
Sourdoughs, amidst protest and squeals.
Erstwhile nights, spent beneath Northern lights,
Resplendent in the months long dark skies,
Verified - such sights, and carnal delights,
Inspired his poetic replies.
Cheechakos swoon, or cry like a loon,
Encountering his ghost at the Malemute Saloon.