Rhiannonw

Sudden spillage on the verges, orchard, lawns – molten gold explosions, splashes, brilliant swarms: dandelions’ moment, reflecting sudden sunshine...

[This short poem was written, at request, for the Thanksgiving Service for a dear very elderly man who had had a working life as a skilful and dedicated mining engineer, though when asked of his occupation he would simply say ‘A miner’. I remembered Ewan’s writing on a colliery disaster in the 19th century, and thought it good to remember those who worked hard to improve and keep safety in industry.] Deep shafts, black gold, dark collier shifts …