50 Narrative Poems - Poems That Tell A Story

There are odd things done in the 12 PM sun

By the ones who moil for gold;

The Cold paths have their mysterious stories

That would make your blood run cold;

Aurora Borealis have seen strange sights,

However, the queerest they could possibly do see

Was that evening on the marge of Lake Lebarge

I incinerated Sam McGee.

Presently Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton sprouts and blows.

Why he passed on his home in the South to meander 'round the Pole, God just knows.

He was consistently cool, yet the place that is known for gold appeared to hold him like a spell;

However he'd frequently say in his simple manner that "he'd sooner live in damnation."

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our direction over the Dawson trail.

Discuss your virus! through the parka's crease it wounded like a determined nail.

On the off chance that our eyes we'd close, the lashes froze till some of the time we were unable to see;

It wasn't a lot of tomfoolery, however the main one to cry was Sam McGee.

Furthermore, that very night, as we lay pressed tight in our robes underneath the snow,

Furthermore, the canines were taken care of, and the stars o'erhead were moving heel and toe,

He went to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll trade out this excursion, I presume;

Also, assuming I do, I'm asking that you won't decline my last solicitation."

Indeed, he appeared to be low to the point that I was unable to say no; then, at that point, he says with a kind of groan:

"It's the cursèd cold, and it has right hold till I'm chilled clean through deep down.

However 'tain't being dead — my terrible fear of the frosty grave torments;

So I believe you should swear that, foul or fair, you'll incinerate my last remaining parts."

A buddy's last need is a thing to regard, so I swore I wouldn't fizzle;

Also, we began on at the dash of day break; yet God! he looked appalling pale.

He hunkered on the sled, and he raved the entire day of his home in Tennessee;

Furthermore, before dusk a cadaver was everything that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that frame of mind of death, and I rushed, frightfulness driven,

With a body half concealed that I was unable to get freed, in view of a commitment given;

It was lashed to the sled, and it appeared to say: "You might burden your strength and cerebrums,

However, you guaranteed valid, and it really depends on you to incinerate those last remaining parts."

Presently a commitment made is an obligation neglected, and the path has its own harsh code.

In the days to come, however my lips were stupid, in my heart how I reviled that heap.

In the long, drawn out night, by the solitary firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,

Yelled out their burdens to the destitute snows — O God! how I detested the thing.

Furthermore, each day that tranquil dirt appeared to weighty and heavier develop;

What's more, on I went, however the canines were spent and the grub was getting low;

The path was awful, and I felt half frantic, yet I swore I wouldn't yield;

What's more, I'd frequently sing to the contemptuous thing, and it noticed with a smile.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a forsaken there lay;

It was stuck in the ice, however I found in an instant it was known as the "Alice May."

What's more, I took a gander at it, and I thought a little, and I checked my frozen pal out;

Then "Here," said I, with an unexpected cry, "is my cre-mama peak eum."

A few boards I tore from the lodge floor, and I lit the heater fire;

Some coal I found that was lying near, and I stored the fuel higher;

The flares recently took off, and the heater thundered — such a blast you only sometimes see;

What's more, I tunneled an opening in the sparkling coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then, at that point, I made a climb, for I could have done without to hear him sizzle so;

Furthermore, the sky glowered, and the huskies yelled, and the breeze started to blow.

It was frigid chilly, yet the hot perspiration moved down my cheeks, and I don't have any idea why;

Also, the oily smoke in an inky shroud went streaking down the sky.

I don't have any idea how long in the snow I grappled with frightful trepidation;

However, the stars emerged and they moved about ere again I wandered close;

I was debilitated with fear, yet I courageously said: "I'll simply take a peep inside.

I suppose he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; ... then the entryway I opened wide.

Also, there sat Sam, looking cool and quiet, in the core of the heater thunder;

What's more, he wore a grin you could see a mile, and he said: "If it's not too much trouble, close that entryway.

It's fine in here, however I enormously dread you'll allow neglected and storm —

Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's whenever I've first been warm."

There are peculiar things done in the 12 PM sun

By the ones who moil for gold;

The Cold paths have their mysterious stories

That would make your blood run cold;

Aurora Borealis have seen strange sights,

In any case, the queerest they could possibly do see

Was that evening on the marge of Lake Lebarge

I incinerated Sam McGee.