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What the Miner in the Desert Said

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 The moon's a brass-hooped water-keg,
A wondrous water-feast.
If I could climb the ridge and drink And give drink to my beast; If I could drain that keg, the flies Would not be biting so, My burning feet be spry again, My mule no longer slow.
And I could rise and dig for ore, And reach my fatherland, And not be food for ants and hawks And perish in the sand.

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