Black Gold Pleasure How Can We Measure. Poem by Jeffrey Heathfield

The shaft breaths while the leaves drop to attention, as the frozen air eats its way into the black gold lair,

Welsh communities were made and paid for the pleasure of the dirty raid,

Train lines appeared and sat lowly and proud waiting for the heart of the mine to grace the line,

While the widowed wives battle with their lives in the midst of the children's cries,

As the proud lines ripped its way through the furrow, to its destination, the docks on the morrow,

The unheard screams and dreams muted out by the huffing and puffing black gold lair,

Barry Docks is where the coal rests ready for its trip around the world. The sailors obey as the ships sway,

The family's fears land on deaf ears, while the money flows! up and down the mine cart rolls,

As the 21st century and fracking appears and the face of the past still lears, energy fears, is what the people adheres,

As the energy countries armwrestle with the upper hand to forefill the land! the strands we get could be on par and not that far!

So whats fracking? like a steak that's just being seared, raw, tested and within the law,

Is it dirty? Is it more? Is it good for the poor? Is it healthy, or is it wealthy? all of them at the fore,

The views are vast, could we make up for the past? And have a new energy to make last?