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I wake before the birds tweet,
put broken boots on blistered feet,
a cup of stew is a small treat
then into snarling wind and sleet.
See, I don’t earn my brass in a white collar shirt,
I spend my days knee deep in dirt,
today, someone will get hurt,
that, for sure, is dead cert.
Another, death, another lost soul
but it’s this – or the dole,
so I dig, I dig for coal,
this life wasted in a hole.
Copyright © Jonathan James