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Where do you look?

How do you measure this man of his worth?.
Who worked at your side in the depth of the earth,
Who sweated and strained by day and by night,
In water and heat and in thick dusted light.

Where do you look here, and where do you find,
A skill and a wit, and a sharpness of mind,
An awarness of nature and what it can do,
And always a lamplight, that shines upon you?.

And who fits the bill now, the question we ask,
Who stands to the front to fulfill this great task,
Whose muscular frame will this burden fall on,
Now that the last British miner has gone?.

Theres a history here, - thats ingrained from our birth,
Of a life, - underground,- in the soul of the earth,
Where the songs that we sang, still echo below,
Before the slaughtermen came, with their fatal last blow.

But this is our story, for history writ,
About brothers together who worked at `the pit`,
Not bettered, not humbled, none greater, - none finer,
Who strapped on a lamp, - and worked as, - A MINER.

God Bless Lads.

Copyright Mick Westwood

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