Sitting across from me,
In a wooden chair,
In an open room,
Full of light,
And many things unknown to me.
Was an old man,
Who appeared to be a miner.

His clothes were worn,
And as wrinkled as his face.
His beard was long,
And his hat was large and frayed.
His worn out dusty boots,
Run over at the heels,
Were made of blackest leather.

As he arose with the slightest effort,
He clomped and scraped across the floor,
His eyes dancing in my direction.
And then he said to me in gentle voice,
Just wait a minute,
Whilst I get you a survival kit.