I had a little chrome-faced clock.
I had a whirling dervish toy.
I had my dad. He delved deep rock.
'Some day you'll be like me, my boy.'

First down the mines when just thirteen.
He'd joke the devil lives damn well.
One day a 'quake shook up the scene.
He'll lodge long-term in Hell's hotel.

Those sucking pits I'll soon descend.
My son, he stares. What does he see?
Perhaps he too can't understand:
a day will find him just like me...

Glenn Bagshaw

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/springhill-nova-scotia/