I shovel the dirt

Every morning I dig for more gravel

For the world to unload on my grave

I shovel the dirt for an audience 

And I’ll die when they need me no more

Many fungi shall grow on my coffin

Humid gas from the breath of my corpse

and the mushroom shall feed on my carcass

a treat for the graverobbing few

Is there gold in the gravel I shovel

I am blinded by what I can’t see

But those who might dig in the ground 

to get rich

might want to get closer to me