playing happily


muddy shoes

grubby fingers

dusty face

watching me gran

pegging clothes

grey wisps in the wind

brushed away with trembling fingers


coal piled high

on the street below

waiting for the men to come home


down near the river

rusty rails filled with rubbish

bare brown mountains

empty houses


the men swaying home

faces black

pockets full of lambs tails

knowing the pit would close soon


and me, not knowing

playing happily