'Pit Ponies' Poem by ARTHUR COLE

I was four when I started my life underground,
stabled below, coal dust would abound.
Miners my friends, they treated me well,
for one, oh so young, the face was like hell.

The dust and the gas, the air putrefied,
the miners would crawl, on bellies and sides.
After pulling the journeys eight hours a day,
I lay in my stable, on soft and warm hay.

Fifty weeks of the year, we'd work together,
think what I'd give for fresh air, fine weather.
Then it would come, two weeks on top,
roaming the fields, a nice gentle trot.

The air I took in, so fresh and clean,
the weeks would fly by, then back to the seam.
Ten years I would work, with brave men below,
but my time it did come, up top I would go.

Up in the cage, to the top of the pit,
they patted my head, you deserve it.
Checked by the vet, then down to the field
where for two weeks a year, always spring heeled.

A pit ponies life was hard and so tough,
I made many friends, took the smooth with the rough.
Life in the field is the way it should be,
for ponies who started out young, just like me.

Arthur Cole..2016...All Copyright Reserved.