Since when did we have a creative writing section

[Doug Thompson]

Was Mine

The mine cars wait in line, On the pit head railway track.
They’re waiting for the miners, But they’re never, coming back.
The miners took their final pay, Then, heavy hearted,  Went away.
And now the mine is silent, For the first time since it’s birth,
Save for the dripping water, That is talking to the earth.
The pumps are lying idle now, With water all around,
Rising, incrementally, To the gentle dripping sound.
And soon, electric motors, Will have passed beyond repair,
As water floods their windings, While they’re sitting helpless, there.
And out upon the hillside, Forlorn, the pylons stand,
Reaching to each other, Far out, across the land.
And the seagulls on the wires, Know little of the mine,
But they’re sensing something different, When they perch upon the line.
And they’ll wait in vain, for scraps of food, That the miners throw away,
When, the shifts are changing, At the end of their working day.