The genesis of magma

Untitled Poem

In days of old when Earth was cold,
  its surface smooth and flat,
a mole was mocked for tunnels cocked:
  “‍Why twist they all like that?‍”
This roused an ire as bright as fire
  in that poor mole’s dear heart:
“‍I can dig straight!‍” it said with hate
  and thus to dig did start.
That angry mole dug stunning hole:
  straight ’twas, but pointing down;
It knew ’twas wrong, but hurt pride strong
  kept it from turning roun’.
Up on the ground there grew a mound
  as deeper that mole went.
In time, to see how deep ’twould be
  some people there were sent.
They called the mole from summit’s hole
  but it did not reply;
they looked inside but nothing spied
  for ’twas too dark to spy.
They held up light, a candle bright
  that flaming wax did spill;
those flames did light deep coal that night
  that burns the Earth’s core still.