Will George Poet



Abertysswg I hear your voice raised,

a cadence from the hills you praise.

Could it be a distant past,

the sound of footsteps on cobble and grass?


The winding engine cranks and sings,

the miners' laughter muted rings.

In that early dawn they rise

and to the dark they set their eyes.


The coal gleams in the morn

where sunlight peers with embrace warm,

the shaft closed, within the cage

absorbs the glow of faded image.


Men file through those tunnels of hell,

wary of the unseen smell

that stills each step and enfolds

mind and movement and tightly holds.


Song greets the daily course,

joy and sorrow merge in verse.

The chime of lunch pails carries

to the wagons of coal and slurry.


Chapels chatter with Sunday's best,

reserved clean collars starched and pressed.

In bonnets black the beauties dwell,

the flowers of youth colourless cast their spell.


Your history is common yet untold,

of individual lives you daily behold.

There are pubs and chapels, one or two,

sufficient to cater to all who woo.


Families have grown up in your bower,

 a bosom that wraps in sun or shower.

They trace back a lineage long,

the Gaelic blood devout and strong.


What holds those loyal to remain

within the confines of Abertysswg's domain?

Is there a sense of pride that binds

or is it contentment that one finds?


The streetscape changes with progress,

yet the community itself is none the less.

Neighbours know when tragedy falls

and commiserate with one and all.


Is there envy for good fortune gained

or the wish that luck may be obtained?

There are naysayers who quip at nature's quirk,

the weather agreeable or disagreeable at work.


Come rain or shine the village remains

the legacy of those who once mined.

Families built the fabric of your terraced landscape

and continue to invest and contend with your fate.


A stream continues to carry the spirit

where the Tysswg flowed; a trickle of merit,

to rise with volume and speed

and join with so many similar content to succeed.


Abertysswg you shall be remembered

by the poet and the songster.

Bards will recall your fame

and share your story bound to your name.


Dec. 16, 2003 © Will George.