Coal Burning Trenchfarers

In the middle of the earth-leeching city,
A baby boy was borne to no one in particular,
The product of a migrant with black farmer's cap,
In briefly held bond with a yellow seamstress,
He who came to be your Millard,
Was sent below the earth at nine,
To hollow and carve it out,
Like so many October pumpkins,
All his mechanisms worked,
For a time,
And you saw fit to accept him,
Entwining your futures,
And he gave you two beautiful dusty daughters,
With spirits like summer dresses,
And they had the most beautiful pairs,
Of two green eyes each,
That would soon call husbands of their own,
As your Millard ran down,
Like grinding gears,
That morning he stayed outside,
Millard, whom you came to love honestly,
And he beheld the foggy sun,
With broken eyes,
Kissed your cheek and went down,
And when the hungry mountain swallowed him whole,
His arms were not enough,
Brittle and hollow they began to pop under the weight,
Until he returned to no one in particular,
And the girls with their green eyes,
Looked up at the night sky in wonder.