A pile of dirt dressed up in a mountain’s clothing A working man’s pile of rocks but a ball and chain for the drowning man a bucket of cement spilled across flowering dirt but the girl is known for crying wolf so a mountain has become a molehill
while the dogs come at the blow of whistle tearing and biting at scraps of meat slavering mouths that consume the yellow pages of journalist notes as a foremen brings the hammer down
the coal burns hotter than any other fuel but oil is expensive these days worth more than the average dollar now that’s a molehill mountain dressed in expensive leather for the fire
a working man’s pile of coal the color of lungs is worth the switch from red to black more money for the non-worker whose check balances with zeros lined in gold this mountains nothing more than a molehill pick yourself up by your bootstraps