Living In Dog Years
When your best friends a canary,
you've been too long in the mines.
The dust that marks
your skin and lungs
is never far behind.
Paler than a Vampire,
hidden from the Sun.
Long hours digging with your pick
wherever the seam may run.
Sometimes the dust
constricts your breath.
Some times you feel undone.
When you're living life in dog years,
you can count on dying young.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
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