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Mining Poetry by Joel Tankersley
Saturday's Child
Whoa partner,
out in the west,
where the sun slowly sinks,
when it so rests.
The hour eleven,
when the sands of time leaks.
I’m headed back east,
in a few weeks.
Up on to Titusville,
on the ole Allegheny.
From the Cowboy state,
where I'm pards with Dick Cheney.
Onto the east,
in the Quakers state western.
Amish cart dragging,
my life is investin'.
Going back east,
going to sink a deep shaft.
Cut a short level,
and set a vent draft.
Take up a Hagby,
turn up and drill.
A big oil deposit,
the barrels we’ll fill.
Make the big money,
and save our great nation.
From the OPEC cartel,
on the edge of creation.
See when we get there.
Copyright Joel Tankersley
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