This lovely poem was given to me by the late night desk clerk at the hotel im staying in at mit square. Ive received upgrades, gifts, letter and drinks from hotels but nothing ever as lovely as this poem based on her association with my name:

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’.