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Copyright © 2012  Roger Philpot All Rights Reserved
   Images © Roger Philpot - 2012 
    The Last Good Night

     My eyes open, its 530 A.M. and the rooster begins to crow,
    An hour later, with a bucket packed and a whistle starting to blow,
    A pick and a shovel, 4 mile ride in and 1,100 feet below,
    Swinging, sweating, and putting forth my best,
    That’s what makes the coal start to flow,
    At home, all, warm, comfy and asleep in his bed,
    Lost in peaceful dreams, is where he lays his head,
    Good night my little man, I love you, that’s the last words I said,
    To see the home we made and a smile upon his face,
    Is worth ever single drop that I have shed…

    Six hours in and my strength begins to fade,
    Six more hours to go, with 50 more dollars made,
    Dinner time it is, so my dinner bucket I raid,
    At the bottom of this bucket I find a picture and a note from him,
    “DADDY, I love you and thank you for all that you do“,
    A letter so meaningfully laid…

    I swear, Lord one more year and I will quit, just one more,
    Well its back to work, even though I’m tired, wore out, and sore,
    Back bent double with only 37 inches between the ceiling and floor
    The top aint looking so good, I think with a bad feeling inside,
    But yet I tunnel on like a mole, thru the mountain I must bore…

    Back to swingin, I dig out more of this so called “BLACK GOLD”
    Faster than I can get it dug the man outside already has it sold,
    The last 3 out 4 ribs have already come in, they have already rolled,
    Diggin my death from beneath the ground, my soul I have already sold…

    Clearing my mind, this day from all of my fears,
    Is harder then keeping the crying, from there tears,
    On a day like today I wouldn’t mind following up the rear
    But yet they put the new guy in the back
    Safe and secure, they put him in the clear

    One more swing from my pick and top begins to roar,
    It cracks down like thunder and starts to heave the floor,
    As my thoughts and emotions start to soar,
    The roof is comin I am pleadin to the lord,
    And im prayin to God that he will grant me, one day more

    As the dust begins to settle, and the rocks cover me in place
    I pray to the lord, watch over my son, wipe the tears from his face,
    Give him the things I always wanted for him, give him the very best,
    When he starts to get off track lord, put him back in line,
    And please don’t ever let him go near a cold, dark, dusty mine

    ©Tad Dolen
    04-13-09
    Used With Permission Of Author
    All Rights Reserved
A Poem Written By Tad Dolen 
An Underground Coal Miner From Hazard, Kentucky

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Tad carries his son picuture under his hard hat when he goes Underground.
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