A Man Was Made To Work
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I’ve spent a lifetime; looking down this same old road
And; all the memories that, upon me it has bestowed
I watched the children play and grow, as some stayed
There were others; who left, married, some led astray
But the old brickwork of the streets remains the same
The old colliery; its gates closed unemployed to shame
As the skies though were clearer; in their lack of smog
Spirits plummeting; as thoughts, to a better life befog
As men got wearier; their sense of purpose in disarray
Wives and mothers struggling; their men, without pay
The days of a man breaking his back digging black gold
Now all left dejected; their souls being, so cheaply sold
Honest working men; their lives are driven to the drink
In their attempt to drown their sorrows hoping to sink
All weddings attended; all built now, on unsure ground
A sense of dourness; of babies in their newborn sound
Funerals mourned; to men gone, well, before their time
As pennies given to prevent their kid's going into crime
Nothing changes; nothing ever will, forsaken and forgot
And I still stand here; still rooted, to this same old spot
As idling time and, still looking down this same old road
This legacy of shame and poverty that on me bestowed
Indiana Shaw . . . -_-
"I have used a small part of a picture I sketched from a photo of
Hester coal mine, New Hartley, Northumberland, England, UK
Copyright © Indiana Shaw | Year Posted 2020
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