Working Class

Wrinkles and twinkles and wind colored cheeks callused old feelings well hidden Take a ride in Old Vermont across the covered bridges Wander through the woods of Maine on down east running ridges Stop and face the hard won life See to feel the work the strife Recognize to just admire the fortitude of tiny birds to sing their song through winter long and into spring to hear red squirrels chatter chiding Sit and wait till its subsiding The sound of partridges awing See them alight to dance and sing The Maine woods rite the solid thing that holds to them who live in Maine It’s not the same along the coast. Though secretly the smile the wink at richer moneyed men who drink and live in yachts and shiny boats and houses build so they can boast and say they live in Maine Like generations on the Vineyard and families born Nantucket’s best These working men of salty Maine call foreigners these summer guests and stolidly ensure by words and deeds their characters endure in deed To know what’s right and stay to do. to stand and fight if driven to To drop a hat I’ll give y’ that I’ve seen the same on Scottish tors And Yorkshire men I can recall Who like to these no easy breeze could move them from their moors So sit y’ back and sip a dram and think of other men who strode upon these sands of time and held to what y’ ken And spill a drop in token toast to those who sail on cloudy coast and walk in smoky mountains high in flowing glowing sunset sky They cannot die as long as I and kin can ken of them the working men of class