Feathers

Brought forth life in County Durham
And lost it down the pit
No house a stranger to the loss
Of someones kin or kith

Oil lamps pallid light reflects
On dulled brass tiny cases
Containing exotic yellow feathers
Ahead of coal-blacked faces

Once white ponies parade past
With heads hung on stooped shoulders
Before the miners prayers and picks
Devour darkened boulders

Young lads made with snot and bone
Scurry up the wagoned pieces
Of compressed carbonised cruel coal
Behind the ponies traces

Then cries of "Gas!" alert the men
Wretchedly they run for air
A heap of tiny feathers fall
As lamp wicks' spit and flare

The City mourns it's misery
And counts the loss of men
But as for pony, lad and bird
Who else remembers them?