Just Digging

Digging,
Digging,
Digging a hole.
If you ask her the reason,
She doesn't know.
Just digging,
Digging,
Digging for the joy.
A shovel is better than toys.

Deeper,
Deeper,
'Til there's nothing but rocks.
Dirt in her hair,
Dirt in her socks.
Sun up to sun down
She just keeps on digging.
Mom calls for dinner,
But digging won't stop.

She finished digging
Near Earth's molten core,
And thought to herself, "I'll dig no more".
Separated from lava by only a fraction,
She drops her dull shovel
With great satisfaction.
Such a marvelous pit
No one ever had dug.
"Now it's time to go eat,"
She said with a shrug.

Jumping,
Climbing,
Shouting for help.
From down in the hole,
No one hears the sad yelp.
She started her project without any prep,
And it seems she forgot
to plan for some steps.

Copyright B.C. Byron 2021
She dug to the magma near Earth’s core and forgot to make steps

This poem, like many of my poems, is from my own childhood memories and the over-the-top ideas we had as kids. I remember digging holes for hours in the large garden behind my home growing up. There was something satisfying about having a single goal and working so hard at it. The goal was simply to make the deepest hole possible. Sometimes my sisters or cousins would help and we would make plans for the giant underground caverns that would eventually come of our efforts. We even dragged a picnic table over with plans to put it inside our fort, once the hole was wide enough and deep enough. Of course, we grossly underestimated the amount of time this would all take. 4 hours in and the top of the hole was perhaps as high as my ten year-old chest. We never thought to rent an earth-mover or other industrial equipment, which would have made our underground fort actually possible. I wonder if they would have let a bunch of kids rent a backhoe with piles of change.

We also never really thought about the implications if we actually did manage to create a hole large enough to fit all of us and the picnic table. What would we actually do in there? How long would our parents wait before calling a search party and would the search dogs be able to smell us down inside the giant pit? It’s good to have big ideas and work hard at achieving them. Just think a few steps ahead about where it all leads. Be ready for what happens once you’ve reached that dream and you’re looking back up the miles of dirt wall surrounding you. Don’t take things too far, and always bring a rope in case you need to get back up.

Published by B.C. Byron

I’m a children’s author, poet, father of 3 girls, and electrical engineer. My first book, A Cat Named Lump, is now available on Amazon. It’s not for everyone – just those with a good sense of humor who stand a bit outside the norm. I have so many odd poems to share with the world, so I started this blog. Here I’ll post some poems from my book and many yet unpublished ones. If you like my work, please show support by buying and rating my book.

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