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There was a time, which was not all that long ago,
When our ancestors sent children down mines.
Such barbarity we still often look back on,
With disgust, shame and revulsion.

Tiny, young bodies bent double,
Serving their master’s bidding,
Through mire and darkness.
Times are now changed.

Children can look up.
“See little children,
It’s different now,
It’s all changed,
Stay by mum,
Hold hands,
Look up,
Behold.”
Mines
Land mines ..mine...mine....mine.........mine.......mine..........

You have a way of bringing us through a tunnel into a different reality, Byron. I don't always enjoy where you bring us to, as in this one, but I appreciate that, and how, you are able to put yourself in other people's place and do it.

~ Elizabeth

Ciao Byron,

The shape of your poem, an ice cream cone? Yes? Very good.

Vesuvius