What’s hell on earth? It’s getting up early
An even more ludicrous thing to do
As winter draws in, dark, cold and surly
Bed’s better, with an extra dream or two
Imagine the days of TB and flu
When factory hands and miners had to rise
By candlelight or gas lamp, no chance to
Relax with a coffee; out under skies
Blacker than the soot that would soon comprise
Their outermost skin; breathing in swirling
Dark clouds till lunchtime’s cigarette and brew
But the real sin was alcohol, advised
The preacher, warning of the hell to be
When it was a place they were going through
Wed 8 Oct 2008
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