Chile's Miracle
CHILE'S MIRACLE
Miners thirty three, descended the mine,
In the Chilean Atacama desert at San Jose,
To fetch copper and gold so fine,
And to the occasion they happily rose.
In the bowels of the earth 700 metres below,
Lo! They were pinned half a mile underground,
And a rock of 70000 tonne gave them a blow,
Crashing on their tunnel with a huge sound.
The tunnel bore the brunt and kept them alive,
They were utterly scared; it was humid and hot;
On one half a spoon of salmon they did survive,
In the dark, only their helmet lights were their lot.
Despair and anguish gripped the men to pine,
They were trapped in a dark dank space;
Seventeen days passed on with no sign
Of contact with the world and human race.
In their desolate bleak cloud of isolation,
There came a streak of silver lining;
A tube they espied with tablets of dehydration,
Protein and high -calorie food for their dining.
Hope bloomed in the miners' hearts,
They endured days -on with solidarity,
The measly food were their delicious tarts,
They waited with fortitude and equanimity,
Up above, the entire world was in piquancy,
And an array of international talent played,
The Chilean Govt: , NASA, Japan's Space Agency,
And other companies, score, with them stayed.
The rescuers were in a hard torturous fix,
As expertise converged for the complex rescue,
It was a narrow twisting escape shaft-the Phoenix_
Painted as the Chilean flag, red, white and blue.
"Miners of Chile"_the refrain continuously echoed,
The world watched with bated breath, the cage,
Secular prayers from every country showed,
That the world was one large Global village.
The evacuation started- descended the capsule,
Kith and kin awaited in ‘Camp Hope"dazzled
Down there, the miners were calm and cool,
But on top, the mood was with nerves frazzled.
One by one the miners were arduously lifted,
Through the phoenix- like the bird's re-birth;
Taking 48 hours for all of them to be gifted,
Oh! The joy knew no bounds at their re-birth.
The last man Luis Urzua came up from hell,
The leader, who kept the miners all to-gether;
Not only the man who bore the ordeal well,
But the one who superbly coped with the weather.
The whole world with euphoria heaved a sigh,
As all the miners were safe and sound -back,
This ‘rescue mission' had indeed relieved, high,
Thanks to modern day technology's track!
This episode elaborates with magnificence,
How very dear and precious human lives are,
The Chilean Premier spent with munificence,
Subtly ventilating an end to terrorism and war.
Triumph of a never-say-die sprit, pure,
Designates this unique incident, so heartening;
Prayers to the Almighty are answered for sure,
Where all hearts in unison are imploring.
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Related quotes
Chilian Brilliance
It is a blessing to witness,
Such bravery and commitment to brilliance.
With the comraderie of expertise.
All eyes were on Chile.
Lifting trapped miners from two thousand feet,
Below the Earth's surface to emerge as if...
This had been scripted.
More than thirty miners had spent sixty nine days,
Without knowing whether or not,
Their lives would be saved.
And as people the world over,
Watched with anticipation...
There were those in 'progressive' countries,
Doing their best to avoid and explain economic devastation.
As TV monitors above and below on Chilian soil,
Were peering to observe...
A togetherness unfold a people unspoiled.
What does this show?
As this endeavor proved to all?
It showed a people who could accomplish miracles,
To solve and achieve what was shown to be unbelieved!
All eyes were on Chile.
Lifting trapped miners from two thousand feet,
Below the Earth's surface to emerge as if...
This had been scripted.
Again this shows what Chilian people already know,
With faith and trust...
No division of politics,
Or economic conflict with a racism exposed...
Were no where to be observed,
When humanity was placed as the number one priority.
And this activity has taught,
A lesson no one could have bought!
Dedicated:
To the people of Chile.
The miners who 'were' trapped.
Their families.
'What a wonderful lesson.'
-lsp-
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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33 Miners......the Happy Fairy Tale End
Doc, Dopey, Grumpy, Happy, Sleepy, Sneezy and Bashful,
Seven miners all so so sad adversity has held its grip,
Nasty Queens poison apple whose life of Snow White tries to null,
But look the Prince is here to kiss, and in the bud this deed to nip.
The minors so so happy, hugging and smiling a fairy tale end,
Yes a fairy tale indeed a message to the world to send, but
Look! A real life story has unfolded before our very eyes,
Deep underground thirty three Chilean miners entombed below,
The world takes notice, mankind prays no one dies.
Two long months pass then God s help he doth sow,
With comrade’s ingenuity of man a capsule is born,
Down a sunken shaft it sinks to the men it will save,
The Lord delivers them to family from whom they’ve been torn,
One by one they step out so strong and so so bloody brave,
Everyone is hugged by the president of the land,
Families unite hugs, happiness flashed around the world,
A real life fairy tale dancing with this happy happy end,
....................................So many hugs to fill a grand stand
poem by Ken e Hall
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Mother Of A Miners Child
She is my flower
And she blooms for the one who loves her best
The miners stop to watch as she walks
They know her love is not for sale
She will never fail me cause I know
I watch her grow
And the mother of a miners child
Waits for me beside the kitchen door
She is my light
In this place where the darkness never ends
Shell guide me where the tunnels twist and bend
Shes the only one who listens when I tell her
I got less than I can spend
She knows the pace
Oh mother of a miners child
Was away the coal dust from my face
When the night shifts done
Shell be waiting by the table when I come
Searchin for another dream to chase
Oh mother of a miners child
I know that you still think about the day
When well be movin on
Remember dear old daddy and
The promise that I made to carry on
Sometimes I smile
In the cage where the cables softly hum
Id curse that old straw boss to the bone
But the mother of a miners child
Is waiting for her paycheck to come home
Come saturday
And he is just a miners boy
I hope that he will find a better way
She is my flower
And she blooms for the one who loves her best
The miners stop to watch as she walks
They know her love is not for sale
She will never fail me cause I know
I watch her grow
And the mother of a miners child
Waits for me beside the kitchen door
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Springhill Mining Disaster
Bono: like to...Id like to try a song that I think weve only played once before, so. this is a city that a...a lot of irish people came to this city, right? so this time...this irish...t
Irish people came as rock and roll band, okay? so...but this is a folk song. its like...the irish kinda hold america in a very special place because, for over a hundred years or more, irish have come over here to find work and find a future. and they brouught with them songs, old irish folk songs that became old american folk songs. and, I hope maybe wed leave behind some songs one day. this is a song written by peggy seeger. its a song...i wished Id heard this song on the raidio during the miners strike in england a few years ago. this is called springhill mining disaster.
In the town of springhill nova scotia
Down in the dark of the cumberland mine
Theres blood on the coal, and the miners lie
In roads that never saw sun or sky
Roads--
Bono: shut up for a second, will you? stop whistling cause Im not in the beatles, okay? its u2 here.
In the town of springhill
They dont sleep easy
Often the earth will tremble and roll
When the earth is restless
Miners die
Bone and blood is the price of coal
Bone and blood is the price of coal
Listen to the shouts of the black faced miner
Listen to the call of the rescue team
We have no water, light or bread
So were living on songs and hope instead
Living on songs and hope instead
In the town of springhill nova scotia
Down in the dark of the cumberland mine
Theres blood on the coal, and the miners lie
In roads that never saw sun or sky
Roads that never saw sun nor sky
In the town of springhill
Dont sleep easy
Often the earth will tremble and roll
When the earth is restless
Miners die
Bone and blood is the price of coal
Bone and blood is the price of coal
Bone and blood is the price of coal
Bono: thanks for your patience. thank you.
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Are The Poets, The Miners Of Gold
we go deeper
into
a long tunnel
we look like
miners
with lights in
our foreheads
we are looking
for nuggets
of gold
it is damp and
cold and dark
there and
we may die
there
when the earth
caves us
in
we can be eaten
with what we
are feeding.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rescued Chile Miners, A Miracle of Faith
From August 5 to October 13
in the year of our Lord 2010
69 days you were held in prison
down deep in earth's dungeon.
69 days of stolen rays of
the sun and stolen valleys of rest
33 miners you were buried alive
in earth's seven hundred meters-deep.
Who could have imagined
finding you alive and still
with your spirits up high?
Who could have imagined
that the tears of your loved ones
and those of your countrymen
could be changed to the cymbals
of dancing and rejoicing?
But yes, on the ground where
you were buried alive, you raised
your eyes to your Mighty Creator
And in the camping sites
of your loved ones, persistent prayers
were raised to the heavenly door.
And among your politicians
and engineered men and women
a solidarity plan to rescue you were
conceived in sleepless days and nights.
Here is your story, Chileans,
a miracle of faith in our time!
And the world claps her hands
because the weeping is changed into
an overflow of tears of rejoicing
on this great mountain of joy.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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In Ballarat Where History Don't Fade
In Ballarat where history don't fade
They still honour the Eureka Stockade,
The miners who fought some of them even died
For their rights to them that for years they had been denied
The Town of Ballarat known far and wide
And the people there in their history take pride
Their ancestors fought against their oppressors laws
And even took up arms for their worthy cause.
The name of Peter Lalor they revere
He led the miners fight and conquered fear
But for his fame a huge price he did pay
He lost an arm on that historic day.
The miners were defeated in the bloody fight
They succumbed to the Government forces greater might
But they won their rights for which they went to war
And the story of their bravery travelled far.
In Ballarat where history was made
They still revere the men of the stockade
Who fought against the forces of the crown
Long years ago in their historic town.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Another Zulu Dawn
Another Zulu Dawn
(The Battle for Orgreave Pit)
Cries of Zulu as miners rushed the barricades
Truncheons banging against riot shields
A nation at war with itself
Men of South Yorkshire,
United in the right to defend their pit
Maggie’s the Caesar of capitalism
Her legionnaires bought with 30 pieces of silver
Brought from the four corners of this septic isle
To take away another man’s right.
To destroy his culture, his freedom, his way of life
A democracy of road blocks and strip searches
England for the few
While miners live on Pots of rabbit stew
Demonised by the elected south,
Propaganda their stew.
Orgreave, now a place of forgotten ghosts
And Coal the driver of this great economic power
All gone
Memories, now overwhelmed by the banks and the city
But power is fleeting, a house of cards
For they too have felt the wind of recession
So beware the hurricane, or you too might become extinct
And what Caesar will save you.
Footnote to this poem
This poem is about the Miners’ Strike, June 18th 1984
As a young lad and bizarre as it may seem I played in a 5 a side football match at Orgreave Pit on this day.
My way was blocked by 1000s of miners and a cordon of Police blocking our access with barriers of Riot Shields.
We made our way to the front and asked a Policeman to let us through. To my amazement the cordon opened and we were let through.
Behind us was a surge of Miners all shouting Zulu. It must have been a rallying call, for me it was a magnificent site, a place of community rebellion, a place to be proud of. In response the Police beat their shields with truncheons. The sounds were deafening,
From the sides mounted police horses galloped into the crowd causing miners to fall and split. This was war without guns. The Miners regrouped and the Cry of Zulu saw miners coming over fields and down the lane charging at the barricade of shields, the sounds of the clashes were unbelievable. At the end of the day I was coming home there were coaches of police holding up their wage packets to the window at the remnants of miners now left, a final insult to the miners. None of this was reported at the time.
What the general public did not know was the government intervention on reporting the struggle. Many incidents were deliberately withheld from the public. Never before in the history of this country have the forces of State been used on its own people to implement a policy by a minority. An account of this battle can be found on Wikipedia. In light of recent press spying and phone tapping, one can see that the seeds of such practices were sewn here at Orgreave. On a more happy memory the rock singer Bruce Springsteen was playing his concert in Sheffield. He donated free tickets to all the striking miners and gave £50,000 to the striker’s fund, as he came from a mining family. A reflection of the strong community links by miners throughout the world.
poem by Steven Cooke
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Corruption Reigns Supreme
Politicians and union chiefs,
Are really so alike,
High salaries and pension schemes,
They never go on strike.
They're rewarded when they make a mess,
The same applies when they fail,
Whereas we'd be sacked immediately,
Then thrown into jail.
Their policies are much the same,
In Immorality they are entwined,
They want the plebs under their thumb,
In corruption they are enshrined.
They're paid for by the working class,
They always get their way,
Yet when it comes to all their perks,
We do not have a say.
When we hit recession,
For us redundancy will lurk,
While they retain their earnings,
They forever remain in work.
Take the miners leader,
He was pretty deft,
He's the leader of a union,
Where there are no miners left.
Trade unions and the government,
Have an affiliation,
You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours,
It's a truly sick creation.
You often find that union chiefs,
End up as politicians,
The job is very much the same,
Dictating our conditions.
If they were truly competent people,
With problems we would not be beset,
But throughout the world these wasters,
Have saddled us with massive debt.
They must be forced to recognise,
That we've all had enough,
If they had to live as we do,
They would find it really tough.
The workers of the modern world,
Really need to unite,
Strip these people of all their power,
Then push them out of sight.
Maybe then we could rid ourselves,
Of our lowly self esteem,
But the problem is we're far too weak,
That's Why,
'' Corruption Reigns Supreme ''
river in spate
flooded mine
trapped miners, buried alive
quote by by John Celes
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The Guile of Dad M'Ginnis
When M,Ginnis struck the mining camp at Jamberoora Creek
His behaviour was appreciated highly;
For, although he was a quiet man, in manner mild and meek,
Not like ordinary swagmen with a monumental cheek,
He became the admiration of the camp along the creek
'Cause he showed a point to Kangaroobie Riley!
Both the pubs at Jamberoora had some grog that stood the test
(Not to speak of what was manufactured slyly!)
And the hostel of O'Gorman, which was called The Diggers' Rest,
Was, O'Gorman said, the finest house of any in the west;
But it was a burning question if it really was the best,
Or the "Miners" - kept by Kangaroobie Riley.
Dad M'Ginnis called at Riley's. Said he "felt a trifle queer",
And with something like a wan and weary smile, he
Said he "thought he'd try a whisky". Pushed it back and said, "I fear
I had better take a brandy." Passed that back and said: "Look here,
Take the brandy; after all, I think I'll have a pint of beer!"
And he drank the health of Kangaroobie Riley!
"Where's the money?" asked the publican; "you'll have to pay, begad!"
"Gave the brandy for the beer!" said Dad the wily,
"And I handed you the whisky when I took the brandy, lad!"
"But you paid not for the whisky!" answered Riley. "No," said Dad,
"And you don't expect a man to pay for what he never had!"
- 'Twas the logic flattened Kangaroobie Riley!
"See," said Kangaroobie Riley, "you have had me, that is clear!
But I never mind a joke," he added, dryly.
"Just you work it on O'Gorman, and I'll shout another beer."
"I'd be happy to oblige yer," said McGinnis with a leer,
"But the fact about the matter is - O'Gorman sent me here! -
So, good morning, Mr Kangaroobie Riley!"
poem by William Thomas Goodge
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Cast Aside
When deadly gas invisibly
seeps from some hidden cavity
and overcomes hard working men
They will not see their home again.
This was the kind of tragedy
we used to see quite frequently.
But now King Coal no longer reigns
and miners wives don’t fear the pain.
Of losing men folk to the pit
What is the bloody use of it.
Another kind of tragedy
engulfs ex miners family.
They’re facing life upon the dole.
No longer need to win coal
There are no jobs he can obtain for
those to old to start again.
They gave their lives to old King coal
and spent their lives down yon dark hole.
Their wives now feel a different strain
but miner’s wives do not complain
The did not when their thoughts were filled
with fear of husbands being killed.
I think today their greatest fear
Is when their man gets too much beer
.
Because he’s well and truly bored
and spends more than they can afford.
If she complains he blacks her eye
and then the fur and feathers fly.
Recalling how things used to be
I clearly see the irony.
The cure is worse than the disease.
A tragedy which no one sees.
You will not read it in the press
nor see it on the evening news.
The lasting sense of hopelessness
of men who have nothing to lose.
16-Aug-08
http: // blog.my.space.com/poetic piers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Sweet Chilean Brown!
In her presence
There was the usual 'I love you' sentence
And if I have to make reference
What I felt for her was without pretense
Getting together again was a mutual decision
Kissing and love-making was a daily exhibition
I remember when we lay in front of the television
Speaking about individual and collective visions
Sweet Chilean Brown!
Gone is my number one fan
Sweet Chilean Brown!
Yes! Yes! She took off and ran
Sweet Chilean Brown!
Yes! Yes! She ran off with another man!
Years ago there were those signs
That stated she will never be mine
But I opened the same door
I ought to have locked before
The beginning of madness
While my story ends with sadness
What is it about love?
What is it about her?
Or what is it about me
That makes me think I can set myself free?
In a world full of rules and numerous fools
I should have just allowed her fantasy to be
For love is what you feel in-depth and physically see
Sweet Chilean Brown!
I think of her without a frown
Sweet Chilean Brown!
Call me a clown wearing a cloudy gown
Sweet Chilean Brown!
Yes! Yes! Twice she wore my crown!
Why did she bother to get in touch?
Telling me she loved me so much
So many years had come and gone
But she still knew how to turn me on
As the past enveloped to a present of fun
Today I sit absorbed in my fairy tale
Reading and thinking over our old emails
The smell of her hair still lingers near
Her poetic writing is ever so enlightening
Her smile regularly captivates me for a while
Is love forever?
Or is love disguised as very clever?
Can you love again someone from your past?
And will that kind of love really, really last
Sweet Chilean Brown!
Gone is my number one fan
Sweet Chilean Brown!
Yes! Yes! She took off and ran
Sweet Chilean Brown!
Yes! Yes! She ran off with another man!
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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On My Mother's 80th.
There are no answers to your questionings;
If eighty years have not revealed the truth,
Then how could I, this child of your imaginings
Begin to comprehend your loss of youth.
Perhaps you let it slip and lose all meaning
When time last yawned, and you did fall asleep,
Then youth took flight while you stayed still and dreaming
Within some sepia’d year you once did keep.
Wild eyed and worn, you always look about you
And wonder what dismay has brought to this,
The thread of age has tied and bound and caught you
And thoughts of death now tremble at your lip.
But yet, your youth may still be seen and found there
Way back beside an old welsh village pit
Where long dead miners carol ‘Men of Harlech’,
And fresh young girls in neat white pinnies sit;
To wait the miners singing at the darkness,
To wait the steelmen, wandering from the shift,
Until your brothers chaff you in the moonlight
And you go in, sit by the hearth, and sleep.
There are no questions now that I can answer,
There are no harvests left for us to reap,
For youth is spent and wasted on a moment
And age is all that we have left to keep.
9 October 1993
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Written At Broadbeach Queensland
The noisy miners chirp in sunburnt parkway by the sea
And lorikeets are noising as they fly from tree to tree
The scaly breasted and the rainbow keets from gum to sheoak fly
A blaze of dazzling colours for to captivate the eye.
The magpies pipe their sweetest notes just as the sun go down
And freshening sea breeze cool the air in humid Queensland Town
This is the nicest time of day a cool pacific breeze
And sun retire at close of day to songbird melodies.
Sun bathers in their beach wear through parkway make their way
Their bodies bronzed from lying on beach for hours on end each day
Sun lovers flock to Queensland the cruel sun they don't fear
They sun bathe on the Gold Coast the twelve months of the year.
An evening in October the second month of Spring
The miners and the magpies in Broadbeach parkland sing
And lorikeets are chirping on gum and sheoak trees
And People walk home from the beach in freshening evening breeze.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On The Flag Of The Southern Cross
On the flagpost in the freshening winds the flag of the Southern Cross
That brave workers once fought under does flap and wave and toss
In Ballarat in Australia where history was made
For their rights brave men died fighting at the Eureka Stockade
The Southern Cross above where they fought in the southern winds did blow
There history was created one hundred and fifty four years ago
The happening at Ballarat became known of Worldwide
Some of the miners who fought the Government troops were badly injured and some even died
For workers rights in Ballarat the price in human blood was paid
For the rights of a fair go it did not seem a fair trade
Each time I see the flag of the Southern Cross Ballarat comes to mind
The miners there who fought for workers rights were of the bravest kind
That great flag has a history for historians to recall
It surely stands for workers rights and a fair go for all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The business manager was doing fine back in his office while they were out on the line, hungry. And, so they started to see a lot of that and there was, that maybe the leadership had its own cause. More so than the miners, you know, it was like a power struggle.
quote by Richard Grimes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jenny Carrister, The Heroine of Lucknow-Mine
A heroic story I will unfold,
Concerning Jenny Carrister, a heroine bold,
Who lived in Australia, at a gold mine called Lucknow,
And Jenny was beloved by the the miners, somehow.
Jenny was the only daughter of the old lady who owned the mine-
And Jenny would come of an evening, like a gleam of sunshine,
And by the presence of her bright face and cheery voice,
She made the hearts of the unlucky diggers rejoice.
There was no pride about her, and day after day,
She walked with her young brother, who was always gay,
A beautiful boy he was, about thirteen years old,
And Jenny and her brother by the miners were greatly extolled.
Old Mrs Carrister was every inch a lady in her way,
Because she never pressed any of the miners that weren't able to pay
For the liberty of working the gold-field,
Which was thirty pounds per week for whatever it might yield.
It was in the early part of the year 1871,
That Jack Allingford, a miner, hit on a plan,
That in the mine, with powder, he'd loosen the granite-bound face,
So he selected, as he thought, a most suitable place.
And when all his arrangements had been made,
He was lowered down by a miner that felt a little afraid,
But most fortunately Jenny Carrister came up at the time,
Just as Jack Allingford was lowered into the mine.
Then she asked the man at the windlass if he'd had any luck,
But he picked up a piece of candle and then a match he struck;
Then Jenny asked the miner, What is that for?
And he replied to blast the mine, which I fear and abhor.
Then with a piece of rope he lowered the candle and matches into the mine,
While brave Jenny watched the action all the time;
And as the man continued to turn round the windlass handle,
Jenny asked him, Isn't it dangerous to lower the matches and candle?
Then the man replied, I hope there's no danger, Jenny, my lass,
But whatsoever God has ordained will come to pass;
And just as he said so the windlass handle swung round,
And struck him on the forehead, and he fell to the ground.
And when Jenny saw the blood streaming from the fallen man's head,
She rushed to the mouth of the shaft without any dread,
And Jenny called loudly, but received no reply,
So to her brother standing near by she heaved a deep sigh.
Telling him to run for assistance, while she swung herself on to the hand-rope,
Resolved to save Jack Allingford's life as she earnestly did hope;
And as she proceeded down the shaft at a quick pace,
The brave heroine knew that death was staring her in the face.
And the rope was burning her hands as she descended,
But she thought if she saved Jack her task would be ended;
And when she reached the bottom of the mine she did not hesitate,
But bounding towards Jack Allingford, who was lying seemingly inanimate.
And as she approached his body the hissing fuse burst upon her ears,
But still the noble girl no danger fears;
While the hissing of the fuse was like an engine grinding upon her brain,
Still she resolved to save Jack while life in her body did remain.
She noticed a small jet of smoke issuing from a hole near his head,
And if he'd lain a few seconds longer there he'd been killed dead,
But God had sent an angel to his rescue,
For seizing him by the arms his body to the air shaft she drew.
It was a supernatural effort, but she succeeded at last,
And Jenny thanked God when the danger was past,
But at the same instant the silence was broke
By a loud explosion, which soon filled the mine with smoke.
But, oh, God be thanked! the greatest danger was past,
But when Jenny saw Jack Allingford, she stood aghast,
Because the blood was issuing from his nest and ears,
And as Jenny viewed his wounds she shed many tears.
But heroic Jenny was not one of the fainting sort,
For immediately to the mouth of the mine she did resort,
And she called loudly for help, the noble lass,
And her cry was answered by voices above at the windlass.
So there were plenty to volunteer their services below,
And the rope was attached to the windlass, and down they did go,
And Jack Allingford and Jenny were raised to the top,
While Jenny, noble soul, with exhaustion was like to drop.
And when the miners saw her safe above there was a burst of applause,
Because she had rescued Jack Allingford from death's jaws;
So all ye that read or hear this story, I have but to say,
That Jenny Carrister was the noblest heroine I've ever heard of in my day.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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The Better Gems
What's better than gold?
A heart of gold and a golden rule
Thus donot over the mined thing drool.
What's better than pearls?
Any pearls of wisdom
grant the oyster some freedom
What's better than diamonds?
Supernovas that dazzle like them
So fret not if you cannot
afford the earthly
underground gem
What's better than rubies red?
Carmine roses and rosy lips
I do and maybe you too
already have them
What's better than emerald?
Feline eyes glowing in the dark!
Ah Lord! that fluorescent spark!
What's better than silver?
The hope that every cloud has a silver lining
Even miners they don't enjoy the mining
What's better than amber?
Amber eyes in God's variety of eyeball shades
Ah! those ebony-eyed maidens and maids.
And whether it be
zircon or amethyst
sapphire or lapis lazuli
agate opal or tanzanite
what tis far better
than all these gems put together
is anyone known as a
'gem of a person'
Now it's up to you to go
beyond your flesh and blood
and be a guiding star!
poem by S.zaynub Kamoonpuri
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life comes to the miners out of their deaths, and death out of their lives.
quote by Mary Harris Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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