Pit Ponies At Port Quin...
Mist dampened my hair
As I stumbled upon
The two disused shafts,
A pair of abandoned mines,
Fenced, ringed, evacuated,
Swallowing murky draughts.
Fog deluded my perception
As I peered into
The sad derelict wells,
A brace of vacant workings,
Fortified, encircled, forsaken,
Gulping nebulous swells.
Gloom distorted my expectation
As I strolled onward;
The nine distant ponies,
A pair of distinctive hues,
Foraged, grazed, mesmerised,
Swallowing obsolete felonies.
Miasma deceived my eyes
As I followed blindly
The pit-ponies’ acceptance;
A brace of disparate souls
Filed, manacled, coerced,
Gulping subjugation’s deference.
Pete Ray
Port Quin, Cornwall and walking towards Epphaven, finding two fenced-off mining shafts and the wild ponies, two colours only.
As I followed them on a single track, back towards the shafts, I felt almost like I was one of them, doomed to labour in appalling, lawbreaking conditions.
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