Andorra had news from the Grey River Mine,
A portrait on the table unmoving in time,
Like rocks through the mill she stirred through the night,
When the morning sun comes there’s no sense of the light.
A neighbor caught sight of a scene through the door,
Andorra’s table with settings for more,
Among all the options Andorra dwelled,
On her hopes that the miners return from below.
Christmas was cancelled a funeral staged,
At the church last Tuesday survivors broke bread,
Dorra at the table was praying for souls,
As the devils danced halos ‘round the angel of woe.
You can blame the bosses for faulty machines,
Rave on Jesus or the high cost of meat,
Complain of the weather or the national swing,
Does it matter at all to the miners down deep.
She had a dream so real that life seemed a fake,
Her man sat beside her they were cutting a cake,
The pipes in the garden were blowing her song,
The one of the maiden who turned to a swan.
Aunt Jess brought roast, sweet Jen made a pie,
Uncle Eddy sent roses Andorra just cried,
The miner’s portrait smiles to the crowd,
Sharing no comment with the rellies around.
OTAGOLANDS 