Saturday, March 19, 2011

Along my usual morning bay, I came upon
A miner sifting and crouching down
At a pan as a miner should,
His mind between the gold and dirt.

“Such a morning – fine –
That I should be finding you along
My path, as I have found many men,
All equally gold-absorbed.”

He said into the pan “I am a mining man –
To keep the thing that I may find,”
And pointed to the sign that said
In withered letters, “Miners mine.”

“To see a miner so enthralled
Makes wishing to take gold from the Estate of Earth
To put it on a selling shelf among the Estate of Man a chore –
Never should I find a worthy gold.”

“Mining is the procuring game – I mine
As one may give away an elfin foot
To in return receive an eagle’s eye -
I mine to give, and get mine, too.”

“I once knew a judge - he mined the Estate of Man
For the guilty few to keep for show
Then gave as dirt back to the Earth
To purify the many others – gold.”

“I once knew a thief – he mined
The gold of others in the Estate of Man,
And gave for more, to and from
The Estate of Man – now he is in the soil”

“Men are to me but miners – infinitely –
Wind but for the gold they mine,
As a twister is something feared,
But bereft of the Earth it pulls – disappears”

The miner finally looked up from gold
To see the face of the voice that so truly spoke,
And saw but a lonely tree, and laughed
At again entertaining a sylvan guest,

And turned homeward with two ounce gold
With which to make his old house new,
And miles to go before he wakes,
And miles to go before he wakes