riappropriazione della citta' d'acciaio [PGH57]

<font size="13" color="#bfffffff"></font><font size="13" color="#ffbfbfbf">They prop the pits as they go, they dig,<br> They load the little cars,<br>One on his knees, rooting like any pig;<br>Another leaning far<br> Over, looming big<br> Above his lamp's faint star.<br><br>The vein, it has no sudden ending:<br> Up go the broken tons.<br>The hammer and the rock, contending,<br>Rattle their bones.<br> They labor, bending,<br> In the dusty runs.<br><br>So dark in all, the little bird<br> They carry against the gas<br>Sits in his cage without a word,<br>Deluded by that blackness<br> Into sleep, then stirred<br> To fresh distress.<br><br>Picks shining like the nails of moles<br> Beneath the helmet lamps,<br>They honeycomb the dark for coal,<br>Hacking for their damp<br> Bituminous souls'<br> And bodies' cramp<br><br><br> </font><font size="9" color="#ffbfbfbf">--Ernest Kroll</font>