Another Mining Town

It’s in the hills of Appalachia where the banjo sings
And bluegrass’s forgotten gem:
The accordion, expands and contracts
The kettle boiling away

I’m a long way from the rust belt
But I close my eyes and taste homemade wine
John Prine sang about Mr. Peabody’s coal train
But it was love that hauled me away

The Welsh came to extract the coal
Two centuries and a lifetime ago
On steam ships, by rail
The rolling foothills looked like home

They brought their love spoons
Fierce dragons and sing-songy tongue
To the quaker meeting halls
Of the buckeye state

It’s strange how these things come in cycles:
I’m buying an old miner’s house
In the valleys, in Wales
Where the rolling hills really do look like home

Another abandoned realm
Where someone else cashed in
On the tar-black seams,
The soot-covered men left to fend for themselves

The fiddles and harp of Welsh folk songs
Transport me back to the banks of the Hocking
Clear-eyed and sure-footed
In the company of people who feel like home