top of page


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.

bottom of page