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Poem: "The Miner" by Maxwell Bodenheim
 
THOSE on the top say they know you, Earth—they are liars.
You are my father, and the silence I work in is my mother.
Only the son knows his father.
We are alike—sweaty, inarticulate of soul, bending under thick knowledge.
I drink and shout with my brothers when above you—         5
Like most children we soon forget the parents of our souls.
But you avidly grip us again—we pay for the little noise of life we steal.
 
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