The days are long, no time to rest,
Cleaning chimneys, clearing nests,
A chimney sweep, a thankless task
The soot falls down, you need a mask.
Rods and brushes, pushed up high,
Standing out against the sky,
Make a wish, it may come true,
If Lady Luck looks down on you.
The daylight goes, so quickly faded,
The sweep sits down, he's tired and jaded,
No more enthused, he stops to rest,
Another shift over, he's given his best.
Tomorrow looms, not far away,
He's dreaming of a better day.
Copyright Malcolm Barnes