Stony, Stony Gorge
A man can lose himself in Stoney Gorge,
That deepest of the chasms in the Earth,
Which goes straight down into the molten forge,
Of brilliant stones of unrecorded worth.
She stands among those jewels in the deep,
She adds a drop of blood to each of them,
Which does disturb her dreams when she's asleep,
But so improves the luster of each gem.
And for her craft she wears a mask of steel,
A thing held on by rivet, bolt and strap,
And in her head, belts grind on iron wheels,
Which evermore will turn until they snap.
On Christmas morning in the world above,
When ordinary folks are mad with mirth,
And poets sing to people drunk with love,
She only labors harder in the Earth.
To make their rings and crowns shine all the more,
The world's so much the brighter for her work,
But never does it stop to thank her for,
The strength enough to mine where monsters lurk.
I can't speak for the rest, but as for me,
I see her diamond pendants gleam and glow,
I see bejeweled angels on the tree,
And toast the work of angels down below.
Comments about this poem (Stony, Stony Gorge by Leland D'Elormie )
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