The Pit

The pit called to both children and men Swallowing them whole Coughing up filthy lumps Feeding on human life The men dug deeper seeking riches for pay Hollowing out the heart of the land Leaving us empty and abandoned when the profit ran dry Picket lines and scabs formed around the wounds An enemy within The women led the battle from home No more pennies for bread Yet always Stout Sometimes Bitter United they stood Together we were crushed into dust

Dedicated to my great-grandfather who was killed in a mining accident aged 35 years old.