A fiery glow in the sky changes fear of the dark unknown

to relief, as its rays lift above the horizon

Old diggings and steep mine shafts dot the hillsides

like certain death-traps for their unwary victims

The suns rays catch on a rusty shack

Flattened cyanide drums form walls with holes cut for windows

Ragged curtains move snake-like in the wind so hot

You shy away before it turns your skin to leather

Inside, red dust filters onto the miner's face

His tired old frame spread-eagled on the Hessian bed

feet clad in mud-caked boots extend over the end

their laces hang suspended

Wrinkles in the tough skin his only legacy

to never-ending days of digging with pick and shovel

out in the cruel glare of the burning sun of this once

prosperous gold-fever driven mining town

Dust-covered tins of food, clutter the fracture-box shelving

A half-eaten meal lies on the bench, amid scattered old newspapers

The dirt floor a carpet of trodden cigarette butts

Overturned whiskey bottles signifying long nights of frustration and loneliness

A shaft of light silhouettes the old miner's face

the eyes are no longer annoyed by flies

which settle in numbers on his blue orbs

Once full of hope, they now stare at the roof

No more dreams of the big one hidden under the next rock,

Nor back-breaking labor in searing heat.

He is free from torment to wander the greener pastures

of this truly golden earth.