A Worker's Sorrow Poem by C.A. Morrow

An old man stumbles along a rocky shore
Thoughts of happiness are his no more
For him the bitter race of life is done
Sorrow and loneliness seem to have won

The river's low blackened bank
reminds him of his birth-given rank
And as the poisonous smoke rises from the mill
his creasted cough beckons on a chill
He sees the rising smoke of Northern coal
that after years has hardened even his soul

Forty long winters he had spent
over a hellish furnace to scrape up each week's rent
marching in hypnotized day after day
Seeking only a poor man's meekly pay

At eighteen he had taken a simple wife
She gave to him all her life
Desolate were the hours shared
Her love he had never really cared

Each winter the reaper came and took his toll
She was forty-two when her name appeared on his roll
Now alone; upon the rocky shore he tries to ignore
What future cold winters have for him instore