Whose Dream Was My Valley?

I wish I had spent more attention in studying geography at school.
Then I would know why my valley, was so special and different from the rule.
It has no more sun than anywhere else, and the rain is at a premium.
For the souls that believe "it's a little oasis from the turmoil and pandemonium."

It holds several villages, separated by a local pride and birth right.
Thou joined by animosity and the aerial ballet of the racing pigeons flight.
A living almanac filled with good times and despair.
With chapters devoted to the passion and the care

So why did God choose this haven and place it across the contours of a hill?
Was it so man could build his chapels on inclines that could kill.
Did he create it the warmth of the sunshine of his smile.
As communities reached out and were stacked mile after mile.

Each village has homes that hug the valley slopes.
With residents full of pride and misplaced hopes.
And every street has a corner.for the kids to hang around.
To practice their grown up rhetoric while wrestling to the ground.

A place, where the villages run like sentences across the floors.
Punctuated only by satellite dishes and patent UPVC doors.
It has not much history, but one hell of a past.
And the scars of a broken coal industry that all thought would last.

A community built up on sweat, torment and strife.
But filled with the hope and prospects of that better life,
It is communities of houses that mirrored one another.
Homes to generations of miners who called each other brother.