peggi lennard


The echoes you hear when no one is near,
Are just buildings decaying with time,
And the scream in the air is the call of the crow,
Not the whispers of someone you knew long ago.
Not reflections of those that this place brings to mind.
Not the ones damned forever to linger behind.

The pit wheel is still, like the underground tomb
Of the miners who worked here and died

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