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.