Portland Stone

The quarry men of long ago Within the mines of Portland isle, Who split the rock with wedge and scale And swung their hammers down, Time again with all their might Until the stone was cut in two, Then whisked away to build the world When shipped from this old town. Chink a chink the quarry sound The ringing echoed through the air, The toil of men so greatly skilled Who grafted every day, With honest sweat upon each brow Their brawny arms and calloused hands, Were hardened from their labours yet They earned so little pay. Chink a chink from dawn till dusk They chiseled through the limey seam, A band of brothers side by side Each one a trusted friend, Their skills were passed on down the line For fathers taught their sons the trade, Their sons did teach their sons the same Until the work did end. For times have changed in Portland now So few survived to show the way, How things were done before machines Replaced the workers there, The fruits of which adorn the lands And grace the towns and cities far, Across the seas this stone be found Those epitaphs we share. 24/07/08