Coal Not Dole
(Sutcliffe)
It stands so proud, the wheels so still,
A ghost-like figure on the hill.
It seems so strange, there is no sound,
Now there are no men underground.
What will become of this pit-yard,
Where men once trampled faces hard?
Tir
ed and weary, their work done,
Never having seen the sun.
Will it become like sacred ground?
Foreign tourists gazing round.
Asking if men once worked here,
Way beneath this pit-head gear.
Empty trucks once filled with coal,
