Minding the Mines
Delving through this mantled land,
An adept deft with crafty hand
Seeks new fortune by the morn
In riches from earth's bosom torn.
Digging deep into the ground
For any worth that can be found,
His squatty shape displays no wear
As he pursues his single care.
His pointed ear does bear no bead
Of sweat as soil his fingers knead.
His lumpen limbs make moves with grace
That life's denied his wizened face.
His nose is sharp enough to aid
The pick he wields to ply his trade.
But time and toil could never fray
The winsome glint his eyes display.