The Roots Of Life By Jayne Davies

Raised in a small mining village,
My love for my hometown’s still strong,
Many old buildings demolished,
But the memories forever go on,
With so much community spirit,
Shared in one proud,special place,
Old faces are etched in my memories,
Those characters never replaced.

I remember the old man,
Who sat by his door,
He’d raise up his hat with a grin,
In the street children played,
Their toys on display,
Making a right joyous din.

Neighbours they’d stand by their windows,
Young babies wrapped up in their arms,
For this was their time for a natter,
A laugh and a joke mixed with charm.

The men often seen,
Coming home from work,
Miners eyes, still black from the coal,
Over the years they laboured through sweat,
Till the industry reached its toll.

When I think back to my village,
Those memories were truly the best,
For the roots of our lives hold memories,
That stay in the heart to rest. 

Jayne Davies