a poem by Edwin Keith Jepson, UK - poetry writer, author, poet

From out of the darkness he came,
Not seeking glory, 'nor' fame,
He had been down the mine,
Serving eight hours a day, of his time,
On the coal face,using a shovel and pick,
He had seen many men in distress,
Who toiled along side him, I guess,
Bearing bruises,and cuts,
And inhaling black dust,
And these were the men,
Whom he'd put all his trust,
At the coal face,with a shovel and pick,
In his belt,he carried a hammer and key,
And pads protected both knee,
His cap lamp was lit,
From a battery on his belt,
And this was the man's destiny,
Five or six days of the week,
This work was not for the meek,
In the dark and the dust,
His task was a must,
On the coal face,
With a shovel and a pick,
After twenty odd years,
He gave in,
His body had taken the fall,
The coal face had won,
The roof finally caved in,
But God had heeded his call,
And out of the darkness he came,
The man on the stretcher with a name,
He had toiled down the mine,
Serving eight hours a day of his time,
Neither searching for glory,'Nor' Fame,

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