Old and worked out
Tired faces
Of retired miners
Leaving traces
Pint in hand
Cigarette in other
Past coal dust
Still to smother.
Glasses chink
Like returning worlds
Locked away
In minds to churn
Talk of football
Horses dogs
The betting shops
The local pubs.
The mining houses
Slowly replaced
By bright new homes
Now in their place
The younger people
Dont really know
Men worked like horses
Through sun and snow.
-
Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: December 6th, 2025 03:34
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 30

Offline)
Comments2
Times come and go mines to homes, Coal to smoke. Work to leisure people forget. Well done
Thanking you for reading, appreciated
You are most welcome
A fine write N. Did they eat Hovis as in the advert?! lol. Not too much brown Hovis for me, thanks, or I will have the trots. lol. Bit like syrup of figs.
they couldnt afford hovis except for sundays, lol
lol
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.