Woodhorn Poem by Paul Reed

No longer the tread of pit boots
Helmets left on the rack
A grey gloomy sky surmounts all
They won't be coming back

No longer the sinking of shafts
To find earth's flinty black crease
A pit wheel stilled and silent
Now just a museum piece

Gone the men who braved the dark
Gone, the pit ponies all set free
Gone the hacking of the face
Gone the bait box and pigeon cree

Now we trudge in this new world
With power shower instead of tin bath
But still we can feel the atmosphere
Still feel the aftermath

Now just a black and white photograph
The man who scraped the blackened crust
Who spent his days below the surface
Fought for his future amongst the dust

Goodbye the sons of mining fathers
And those that were there the last
Goodbye to Woodhorn's doughty soldiers
Goodbye to our mining past