lit #1


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  • *whimper*
  • On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
  • Cap, I’ll cash in this trip, I guess; And if I do, I’m asking that you won’t refuse my last request.
  • It’s the cursed cold, and it’s got right hold till I’m chilled clean through to the bone. Yet ‘taint being dead—it’s my awful dread of the icy grave that pains; So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.
  • i will not fail
  • With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid, because of a promise given
  • I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and saw a boat jammed into the ice
  • Please close that door. It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll let in the cold and storm— Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.
  • Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee.
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