United fall in line;
The axmen to the forests,
The miners to the mine.
Governor Allen today is calling.
Meet him with a smile;
Remember, this is winter,
Not old summer time.
The miners have a grievance
Perhaps it's just and right
They should be well paid
For every ton of coal in sight
But out west the snow is falling
O'er the plains and railroad tracks;
The coyotes, too, are howling
Around the blizzard-beaten shacks.
It's nice to sit before the grate
At this time each year,
When our coal bins are all filled,
Then we have coal to spare;
But, alas, it is a sad affair
When our coal is under ground,
The helpless child is lowered to earth
Clad in a frozen shroud.
We should keep our coal mines open,
And each furnace in full blast,
As the mill will never grind
With the water that has passed.
When the wheels are silent,
The machinery soon begins to rust,
The poor women and children, then
Are those who suffer most.
The Plains Poems in Kansas