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"Hard rock breeds hard men

Who slip between earth's cracks for a living,

The dark chasm which closes round you,

Tight like a fist, draws you down

Into the mine's gullet, the belly of the beast

Hewn out of granite, the ledger of tin,

The ingot of tradition, a labyrinth of strong voices

That still chisel the dark, the rich seam,

A stream that runs through each generation,

A lode that anchors a man's life"

 

From the Wheal of Hope by James Crowden