I wrote this poem in 5 minutes to counter Dal’s malicious Garmin malplacement of the treasure. There are as many hints in this poem as there are dents in Esmeralda, who still glides the tartop after 294,000 miles. Dal must be on something and I don’t think its Sarsaparilla.
Don’t tell me Dal in whispers hushed,
Of golden hoards and treasures lush,
And broken trails and bushes crushed,
Or shattered dreams lost in the rush.
But say it true and not a fib,
And make it plain without the glib,
I’ll set my spinnaker and jib,
And go directly for the scrib,
(I don’t know what scrib means but it rhymes and that’s all I care about)
Forrest is referring to my story called The Tewa Connection…