Wagon wheel gap is a place I never saw br And Red Horse Gulch and the chutes of Cripple Creek. br br Red-shirted miners picking in the sluices, br Gamblers with red neckties in the night streets, br The fly-by-night towns of Bull Frog and Skiddoo, br The night-cool limestone white of Death Valley, br The straight drop of eight hundred feet br From a shelf road in the Hasiampa Valley: br Men and places they are I never saw. br br I have seen three White Horse taverns, br One in Illinois, one in Pennsylvania, br One in a timber-hid road of Wisconsin. br br I bought cheese and crackers br Between sun showers in a place called White Pigeon br Nestling with a blacksmith shop, a post-office, br And a berry-crate factory, where four roads cross. br br On the Pecatonica River near Freeport br I have seen boys run barefoot in the leaves br Throwing clubs at the walnut trees br In the yellow-and-gold of autumn, br And there was a brown mash dry on the inside of their hands. br On the Cedar Fork Creek of Knox County br I know how the fingers of late October br Loosen the hazel nuts. br I know the brown eyes of half-open hulls. br I know boys named Lindquist, Swanson, Hildebrand. br I remember their cries when the nuts were ripe. br And some are in machine shops; some are in the navy; br And some are not on payrolls anywhere. br Their mothers are through waiting for them to come home.