We married young, had the world at our feet,
a family we planned, to make life complete.
Heartbreak and sorrow, now with me for life,
a widow I am, no longer a wife.
That fateful morning, with songbirds on high,
not a care in the world, a cloudless blue sky.
His box I prepared, with a jack full of still,
a "cwtch" and a kiss, a wish of good will.
A few hours later the hooter did blast,
I knew in my heart, that lives had been lost.
Women all rushing, with children in tow,
panic and prayer, for their loved ones below.
Atop of the mine, men with faces like stone,
down below rescuers, working like drones.
A fall was the cause, three miners entombed,
the love of my life, would be later exhumed.
The hours they passed, brought up one by one,
bodies bleeding and broken, a bright morning sun.
My husband and lover, a blanket did cover,
no "cwtches" and kisses, our love affair over.
That morning I cried, my heart broken in pieces,
from a wife to a widow, that grief never ceases.
He died in the bowels, with "butties" he loved,
no solace for me, left all alone up above.
Arthur Cole....All Copyright Reserved.
updated by @arthur: 11/02/17 02:50:10PM
