Mining Poetry by Joel Tankersley
How Cold Is It?
When I was a child in the Leadville city
The streets were nasty, dirty and gritty.
Mother would drive them, splashing the slush.
Mother could curse and it was curse she just must.
Cold it is I'm sure, but it just didn't seem
When I was a child it was more like a dream.
To wander around in the cloud city snow,
it just wasn't cold, not even 30 below.
But when I was a child, I thought like a child,
and have since put away this feat.
It's cold here and has been,
every day this week.
It's cold like old man, Cloward said
when the Eimco mucker wouldn't start.
Cold said old man Cloward,
Colder than an ex-wife's heart
Copyright Joel Tankersley