Worker's Plight (Poem)

Worker's Plight

I toil for gold,
but what's in sight?
Nothing but mold
and dust in flight.

Each time i swing,
pickaxe hits a stone
and I'm wishing
to see my home.

Each morning starts
in my love's songs.
But left my heart
where it belongs.

So I salute
those at the top,
who plays the flute
while we don't stop.

I hope I am not too late for submitting this poem. I just learned about Simply Snickers and The Meme Express earlier.