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Coal Miner:

The dark green hills slant horizontal in the cold rain

In the valley the river thunders peat moor stained water once again and the salmon thrash at the upstream flooding weir

Houses huddle in long road side lines, each with it's miserable, lonely satellite television dust bin lid dish

Massive, stone built singing chapels sit silent, leaking cold rain and empty

The pit head gear rusts in the rain or is melted away and returned as yet another gleaming new Ford Fiesta

Under the acid of night time quartz halogen lights the open cast, open cut monster rips and tears apart more of those sodden green hills and eats out more and more of the shining, shining black coal

The shining black gravestones grow more frequent in the church yard as another pale worked out body with those old healed over black coal scars is heaped under newly dug dirt and fast dying fresh flowers

That shining black coal that is buried again in the long healed old scars of the freshly dead flesh in the ever growing damp earthed mounds in the church yard

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