
Mintabie Miner
© Ross Magnay 10/91
Amongst the scraggy mulga and flies and sand of red,
Machines and men are working in the hope to get ahead,
Working hard at excavation, both machines and men as one,
As they search for hidden treasure, beneath the out back sun.
Smelling fumes of burning diesel, on sandstone hard and white,
Hear the screech of hardened metal as the ripper takes a bite,
And the stones roll out for checkers as they walk behind the rip,
Eyes glued to the ripper mark and set to use the pick.
And the prize that they are seeking is a gem of flashing hues,
Of silica and centuries and reds and greens and blues.
In a vein of glass hard colour lays the hopes of all concerned,
And word will quickly spread around when it at last is turned.
And sun from overhead beats down, the sweat begins to drip,
And you’ll hear, though maybe tongue in check, “She’ll be in the next rip!”
And the grouser plates are rattling as the sandstones pushed away,
And the miners are all hoping that they’ll find the stuff today,
And if they find it or they miss right out, there’s one thing that’s for sure,
Once you’re an opal miner, you will always look for more!