by Clarkson Wroe

Created on: February 26, 2009

The Cave In

Wide white eyes in a coal black face
The clip of steel caps on a cobbled path
A stooped thin frame with a dragging leg
Rushing toward the Claxton's wail

A crowd gathered at the pit head gate
Fear grips the tight knit throng
A cave in at a seam, three mile along
And the late shift not emerged

The cage door swings open and
Down the shaft, the rescue party drop

Their spirit solid, will unbroken
Thoughts grim and muscles tense

First a run, then a shuffle finally a crawl
In clawing dust they gasp for breath
Lungs screaming their censure
Until before them a black hermetic wall

Beyond the fall of rock and stone
Behind the twisted timbers, ten men
Trapped, chocked or crushed, reliant
On their comrades, hope still lingers

Amongst them his father, his brother, his
Friends, men he would die for
As they would for him, he clawed
At the rubble his fingers pulp and blood

The minutes became hours, the hours
Turned to days, hope changed to despair
He worked to exhaustion, rested brief and
Went again but his efforts were in vain

The bodies were discovered
Late on the third day, the crowd
Had never left the gates nor abandoned all
Their hope, in dignity they mourned

So God in his wisdom had claimed
Ten men as his, and the limping man
Walked away, steel caps tapping
Black face streaked with tears

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