Tired Miners Poem by Richard Jarboe

All the tired miners taking a break,
All busted up, looking for a flake,
Wasted miners sittin' around,
Before going back, tearin' up the ground.

Dealin' with whatever's dealt,
You can see it in their face,
A pouch of gold hangin' from their belt,
And a pistol just in case.

When the sun goes down, spring into fall
All the tired miners drink alcohol,
Wasted miners with nothing to say,
Didn't strike it rich today.

It is what it is, better take care,
Can't trust nobody, better beware,
It is what it is, luck on the dole,
Mixed with dreams while digging a hole.