HENRY ALEXANDER TEED

You could make a good living down the west end of town,

I love my job they would say with a frown.

Damp and black, clostraphobic, best not mind,

However  the brothership of a collier was the best you could find.

Working against nature, gravity, and time,

Deeper  and deeper for the coal they would find,

Sweat and muscle, shovel and pick,

Getting it to the surface was a mighty big trick.

Stories and tales I've heard them all

For two weeks through tunnels they would crawl,

 Not for a living, but for brothership ties,

Barefaced and dragermen risking there lives.

Content with his being, grateful for his birth,

Eighty one Victoria Street, where he manipulated the earth,

Wonderful bursts of colors from the flowers he grew there,

Sitting  in a chair, out the window he would stare.

Green 57 chevy, first new car he could afford.

Sitting in the drivers seat his feeling did soar,

He would tinker and polish till he got it just right,

All to be taken away on that most horrific night.

Time has come and time has gone,

There lives remembered no matter how long,

He tended to his families wants and needs,

The soft spoken man, Henry Alexander Teed.

I am so proud of this poem, it was written for me by my son Wayne D. Norman. He gave it to me years ago as a Christmas gift, he never met his grandfather, This is written from things he read, and the stories I told my children about There grandfather.............  SHEILA B. NORTON {TEED}