To the slap of the coalers bow wave against the bank
Winding gear groans, creaks and clanks
Ponies whinny in made- made night.
Laden tubs rattle,
Sweat drip dropping to tolling blows.
To the next shift’s hobnail marching beat, it’s
There, as surely as the coal beneath your feet
The coaler's bow wave slaps the bank,
Winding gear groans and clanks,
Ponies whinny in man-made night.
Sweat drip-dropping to rasping blows,
A laden dram rattles.
The next shifts hobnail marching beat
Is there, as surely as
The coal beneath your feet.