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  Dedicated to every coal miner, that has entered into the tunnels of darkness
Coal Miner Memories

The tunnels of darkness my dad did slave
to support his family on a coal miners pay.
A pick, a shovel a carbide light
In his heart he never lost sight.
Swinging the pick with all his might
to dig black diamonds from underground 
he was paid in scrip for tons not pounds.
His body ached and covered with dust
to load the cars with black diamond lust
Two dollars a shift he would earn
a company forman at every turn.
Company house, company store 
flour sack dresses, his wife she wore.

Food for strength was gravy and bread
a prayer to God, the bible he read. 
Cornbread, beans and potatoes fried
he walked with dignity and swelled with pride.
Hidden emotions, buried deep within
his wages stolen by company men.
Free from slavery was that a sin
for principals of justice he believed in.

Bank belt, shoes, a number two tub 
a dipper, a pallet, a coal burning stove
newspapers hanging to keep out the cold.
From the pits of hell, he labored in vain 
knowing tomorrow would be the same.

Gun thugs and scabs lay in wait
hired to seal the coal miners fate.
Slaughtered by bullets in broad daylight
a daily ritual in a coal miners plight.
Decent wages, in our great land
contracts written with pen in hand.
Coal operators, they bore no shame
violence was the name of the game.

Time passed and dad grew old
coal mining secrets were never told.
Company doctor's, miners could not trust
coal dust proven a deadly curse.
A lingering cough and short of breath
his lungs were weak, he needed rest.
He fought the battle, a union man
this would be dads  final stand.
Your love and wisdom will always remain
memories like photos displayed in a frame. 
 

Author: Elva Nolan Morgan
Published 2003 ©



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