Portland Stone Poem by ANDREW BLAKEMORE

The quarry men of long ago
Within the mines of Portland isle,
Who split the rock with wedge and scale
And swung their hammers down,
Time again with all their might
Until the stone was cut in two,
Then whisked away to build the world
When shipped from this old town.

Chink a chink the quarry sound
The ringing echoed through the air,
The toil of men so greatly skilled
Who grafted every day,
With honest sweat upon each brow
Their brawny arms and calloused hands,
Were hardened from their labours yet
They earned so little pay.

Chink a chink from dawn till dusk
They chiseled through the limey seam,
A band of brothers side by side
Each one a trusted friend,
Their skills were passed on down the line
For fathers taught their sons the trade,
Their sons did teach their sons the same
Until the work did end.

For times have changed in Portland now
So few survived to show the way,
How things were done before machines
Replaced the workers there,
The fruits of which adorn the lands
And grace the towns and cities far,
Across the seas this stone be found
Those epitaphs we share.

24/07/08