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Children Of The Past

Deep down in the cold dark pit,

Where not every corner can be lit,

Worked the boys and girls of tender age,

Who were lowered down in a rusting cage,

To go where danger always lurked,

In coal mines where grown men worked,

Some children were as young as ten,

Keeping candles lit for men,

Who’d often work at a cracking pace,

To hew black gold from the dark seam face,

There they worked for an odd few pence,

And if found asleep they were quickly sent,

To the other side of the known far world,

Just for being tired and tightly curled,

The lucky ones sometimes took a knock,

Whilst others died by falls of rock,

On our conscience they must always be,

These angelic babes, of the last century.

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