Working deep inside the pit
My body covered in all kinds of grit
Digging deep for blooming coal
Working out my heart and soul
Working here since just a lad
Taking after my old dad
Starting work before daylight
And coming out when its night
Walking down our gas lit street
Coal dust on my hands and feet
The coal fire roaring and burning bright
Enough to take us through the night
Sitting in our old zinc bath
Hot water fresh from the hearth
Sitting till I go all wrinkled
Oh blooming hell I need to tinkle
01 02 2009
Chellaston
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem