If miners wear cotton-linen beneath their uniform, it can darken like the coal they caress on the job. In dumping the shards into a cart, a raucous cacophony bounces around the mine. They labor strenuously, day after day. Many miners covet a rich man’s lifestyle, call for one less arduous. Sadly, their station in life leaves them coated with a daily cover of dust, the color as black as what comes from the walls. At shift’s end, they hang their filthy pickaxes on the built-in column. The sun’s corona, an unusual sight, greets them at the entrance of the mineshaft.