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Text of Poem

It’s like digging all day at a buried stone
And going home and nobody there
And lame from labor with no energy to spare
I find the house empty when I come alone.

A stone is like a stone, it won’t wish away
Nor listen to reason, I get down in the dirt
And tug with my hands at its heavy rough skin
And limp home at night like a man who’s been hurt.

I no longer kindle a useful fire,
I eat bread and milk standing up at the table
And each daylight hour as hard as I’m able
I work at the stone as if I had no more desire.

I know that at night the house for its part
Spies me while I sleep but I’m too tired to care,
I have too much to do to match it stare for stare,
I must dig up the stone though I destroy my heart.

First Line
It's like digging all day at a buried stone
Original Pub Location
Original Publication Date
Original Citation
Man and His Field. Denver: Allan Swallow. 1951. 60.
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