An Old Shovel
In the old dark coal mine, brought cold feeling.
It was underground and very dangerous and hard work.
Wearing dark clothes, leather boots, and canvas hat
With a leather brim with metal lamp brackets to hang off a light.
My owner would carry me on his shoulder
When he walked into the tunnels of the mine.
He would hold me firmly with both hands.
Forcing hard with his body, would push my blade into the hard ground,
Rocked my handle back and forth to loosen the ground to get to the coal.
He came out dust covered black with me on his shoulder
All wore out needing to be sharpen for the next day.
I pondered about winter; it would come, and snow would fall.
He'd get me out of the shed, cold chill I would be to the touch,
And shovel the soft fallen snow of the sidewalk.
Years have passed and also my owner.
Now I hang of the wall with my blade painted.
His daughter in tribute, painted a winter scene.
An endless breadth curtain of a blue sky
As it closes the sun's view going down.
Patches of snow on the ground and bare limbs on the trees
My owner walks down a path with his dog.
As he had walked that path so many times.
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