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Mining Poetry by Joel Tankersley
American Miner
The dawn of the morning
the sunlight the day.
The darkness the mine,
it all goes away.
To descend deep down,
the rite of their birth.
rite of a miner,
value and worth.
You have your lights,
you have your gold,
cool in the summer
warm in the cold.
Cities of iron
dug with my hands.
The miner the root
of modern man.
The dawn of the morning
never delayed.
Controlling each danger,
money their paid.
Busting the rock,
deep in their soul.
If death comes a knocking,
beyond their control.
Honor their name,
Honor their trade.
Grace unto God,
will never fade.
Hold fast to the owner,
hold fast to the hands.
The hand of a daughter,
across our great land.
Pray for the brethren,
as they risk their own strife.
With toil we give you,
the American life.
© 2010 Joel Tankersley
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