Minor



There faces were black as soot
When they received
Their weekly blessing;
Their elbows scratched,
Backs wrenched and
Nails cracked far
Beyond the tips.
Even their shoes had seized
To bare the weight.
They were cast aside
Early that morning,
Having worked most of the night.
Yet they were still not
Worthy of Holy Communion
For they were yet to realise death.

About this poem

This poem is about the child miners of the past and how poverty touches the heart.

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Written on September 07, 2021

Submitted by heathert.34240 on September 07, 2021

Modified on March 05, 2023

18 sec read
20

Quick analysis:

Scheme ABCDEFGHIJCKLMN
Closest metre Iambic trimeter
Characters 346
Words 62
Stanzas 1
Stanza Lengths 15

Heather Lydia Thornhill

Moods and mindsets poetry. Published. Book in progress: Don't talk rot. more…

All Heather Lydia Thornhill poems | Heather Lydia Thornhill Books

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    "Minor" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 26 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/108958/minor>.

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