If You Could Trap a Sound

If you could allurement a sound,
in the affection of Mother Earth
from the cool, base underground
What would that complete be?
A laugh, a whisper, a announced endure word
a gasp, a supplication, a plea
If you could allurement a eyes by the eye, seen
would you ascertain the butt of comfort
from one man to the other,
brothers in their acceptance . . . freed
If you could allay the darkness, with a flame
Or feel afflatus ignited, by a prayer
You would accept apparent the angels that came
and confused amidst the men down there
Men of the Heartland
Miners of our Earth
Beckoned to His Homeland
Men of family--Men of worth!
Extolled in the animal heart
is our affiliation with the Creator
like a brilliant in the firmament, bright
And to the Heavens aloft we lift
our eyes through the darkness
until we affix with the Light
Copyright 2006 Kathy Pippig Harris
For the atramentous miners who asleep in the Aracoma Alma Mine, the Sago Mine of West Virginia, and Darby Mine Number 1 in Kentucky.
And for my grandfathering who was a atramentous miner in Illinois, and admired roses.
`*`
The activity of a atramentous miner is insular. They accept their ancestors and tight-knit accumulation of friends. And, they accept their faith. Their activity is alarming and generally lonely. The plan they do is as basic to our country as is the air we breath. When our country loses a individual being to the mines, we accept absent a baby in the beating of our nation.