Flat-capped workmen sit playing dominoes,
Their pint glasses are brimming with ale,
Smoking woodbines and pipe tobacco,
Laughing heartily at a dirty tale.

A brief relaxation from their working toil,
A welcome interlude from rigorous life,
For these men who work the mine or soil,
To earn a wage to butter their knife.

What has happened to their muscular frame,
The easy nonchalant way they moved?
They look so different yet still the same,
Quietly confident and so often proved.

Still they play their ‘knock-knock’ game,
Still they laugh and say dirty jokes,
But now they all seem rather tame,
Once flat-capped heroes, now elderly folks.

Around them suited businessmen pace,
Drinking sparkling wine from a glass,
Modern day executives with fairer face,
A different generation, a different class.
 
As I sit within these walls once again,
I look around, but I don’t know;
Are these the same men down memory lane?
No, they disappeared a long time ago.