Shall I Compare Thee to a Backfill Pile?

Thou art more handsome and less humid.
A pungent heap of earth hath little guile;
Discard from a trench, it hides few artifacts,
Which render excavation's lease worthwhile.

I don't prefer this digging to a date with you;
Hot sun bakes the unprotected head; back
aches from chipping with a rusty hoe. Lord,
I wish I was with you at home instead.

Your cooling eyes refresh my dusty spade, saying,
"Honey, you deserve a nice long shower."
Not asking whether I've struck pay dirt today, "I'll
cook," you tell me, "Sit back, relax an hour."

I must say I'm grateful, Baby, and though I'm a scientist, not a bard,
So long as we will dig the fruits of time,
My most treasured find will still be thine.