The Coal Miners

While the miners work for their daily goal,

Covered in the soot, black like the coal

Lie two children of thirteen and fourteen

Devoid of the bliss and mirth of the teen.

Their parents work nearby, I am told,

Tinkering their hammers for the black gold –

“They may not yet have come to know

Why their kids had missed their tow.

Last night they didn't bother much

Until the faithful were called to the church.

(You see sir, we don't go to the chantry,

All we workers are from a different country.)

But, you see, at six there's a call by the church,

And before that, they obviously didn't bother much.

Children of the mine work like their parents,

Subject to the miner and his ugly rants.

They crawl into the shelves of peat

Like roaches on their daytime retreat;

They hold their breath and we pray for them,

For oftimes, the mine is weak from the stem

And comes crashing down with a noiseless thud

And we found these two for hours dead.

The father and the mother will now come, sir,

But I tell you, they will not a speck of remorse utter –

There is that woman, you see, with coal on her head,

In the black rocks had she found this girl’s hand all red

And days before that, she found her own husband like that.

So, you see sir, this is no reason to be very sad.

Now, you see sir, he has one ear missing and she may have another part

But this is nothing – because the world is missing a heart.”