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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 god 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.'
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