Dust always blowing about the town
Except when sea-fog laid it down.
And I was one of the children told
Some of the blowing dust was gold.
All the dust the wind blew high
Appeared like gold in the sunset sky.
But I was one of the children told
Some of the dust was really gold.
Such was life in the Golden Gate:
Gold dusted all we drank and ate.
And I was one of the children told
We all must eat our peck of gold.