With buckets packed and hard hats on,
They go to earn their pay.
Miners have a special bond,
They live it every day.
All miners share the burden,
When one has lost his life.
The coal mines never could replace,
The kiss he gave his wife.
It's a special kind of job,
Only miners do.
No matter how far down they go,
Angels go there too!
We miss the ones that God called home,
And the jokes that they have told.
The coal dust floors they use to walk,
Now have turned to gold.
Deep in the earth,across the land,
The miners did their best.
Their bodies go back in the ground,
Their place of final rest.
© Irving E. Rice
All Rights Reserved
A Poem Written By Irving E. Rice
(When Dust Turns To Gold)
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