The Watermelon Mines

That deep red chasm, dark and wet; in the scarlet walls, black seeds are set
ebony black, they will give birth, to water-melons, fruits of noticeable girth.

What idiot thinks these magnificent things would ever grow on the common vine?
There is no doubt these fruitly kings, would only be found in a watermelon mine.

I dig my shovel through the corridor wall, of spoiled fruit and crusted pulp
Deep in the pockmarks of the walls, are watermelons for you to gulp.

Hot liquid burning down my spine, my sweat and the dripping juice from above
A leak in a watermelon juice pipe-line, that leads to the fruit-juice making alcove.

As I tramp along the squishy vent with three hard-earned, well-dug fruitly kings
I see the bubbling venomous melon juice holes, from which toxic gases sing.

So acidic in their rocky realm, like volcanoes from deep within the earth;
the smell is enough to overwhelm, reeking up from these pits that seem to bubble with mirth.

I turn in my melons for my small well-earned pay, it’s time to head to my meager home,
It’s been another long, long day, in this deep red mine, this honeycomb

Of melons, the great magnificent things, what idiot looks for on the common vine?
There is no doubt these fruitly kings, would only be found in a watermelon mine.