I stand on a hill and gaze at my valley
Lying and waiting just like a great beast
Dark brown and tawny basking in sunlight
Like a great lion replete from his feast.
Sometimes its misty and cloudy and damp
The valley sits sullen like a child who is sad
The coal tips are looming blackened and menacing
Looking for children that other tips had.
Earth mixed with men who crawled in its bowels
Rivers of tears from women alone
The valley sits silent, watching and waiting
Its peaceful exterior can never atone.
There are days when the valley sits chuckling
Like a fat and benevolent hen
Spinning its wheels at the pit head
Promising work to the men.
Days when its shrouded and misty
Beheading the mountains and trees
Days when I look at its glory
And find myself down on my knees.
Copyright Jan Price.