The Ex-Caver – or what Having a good job does to you

All references to any person living or dead are purely coincidental.

He was a caver & a right hard lad,
Or at least that’s the why it is told,
In a tricky spot, or a tight, tight crawl,
No one was quite so bold.

Now this went on for many a year,
He became a respected bloke,
Until one day, on a sunlit shaft,
His chest harness snapped & broke.

This is when, and plenty agree,
A change took place in this man,
No longer fearless, stupid or brave,
He became an also ran

To top it all he took on a job Which involved all his old caving moves,
Like groveling, ducking & scraping about,
Now all he wears out is his shoes.

Occasionally though, he’s seen at the farm,
And sometimes as well underground,
But the job must be good, and also the boss
For to Sunday working he’s bound.

Now he’s gone to that great golf course,
That lies beyond,in our dreams.
He doesn’t go caving, but he still goes crawling,
and the boss lines his pockets, it seems.

Authors name withheld for obvious reasons.

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