The Great Canadian Treasure Hunt

In a land crowned cold and vast
Old riches whisper through the past
A mirror hides what veins once bore
The verdigris behind the lore

Beyond the clouds where glaciers reign
Gold sighs beneath the mountain’s strain
Yet peaks mislead with gilded hue
The path lies where the birch trees grew

Salt air once bore a copper song
But brittle roots don’t guide for long
The brine remembers, but forgets
The current pulls where moss still wets

Where fire stitched a northern name
And red seams sparked a fleeting flame
No ember now ignites the track
The phoenix flew and won’t look back

A giant coin reflects the sun
But circles lead where none begun
Its gleam is but a siren’s light
No miner’s truth is held in sight

Where chalco fever gripped the east
Where Flinty’s claim once never ceased
The water hums an ancient code
But silence marks the current road

The Shield bends low through sleeping trees
Where sunken whispers told of ease
But breaks don’t speak nor faults confess
What roots may hold in quiet press

Where iron sings and cedars lean
The northern call remains unseen
A truth not loud, but forged to be
The strong, the silent, and the free

One marker stands, by shore and pine
Its message dulled by passing time
What once declared, now disappears
Beneath the weight of growing years

Where warm the zinc-toned waters fell
And Bathurst rang its deepest bell
The sounds now fade but echo trails
In folds where even memory pales

Where suits and stones have struck accord
And Bay Street crowned the mining hoard
No gilded desk nor numbered share
Will point to where the birches stare

Step not in haste where paths align
But where the trail forgets design
Beyond the mark the tall grass grows
And buried speaks what no one knows

Not marked by gold but core alone
A sliver rests in overgrown
Look past the script, behind the brush
The compass turns, and all is hush