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Roslyn Coal Mine
Twenty-two miles to the Roslyn mine.
Two blocks beyond, ten headstones you'll find.
All dated the same the registry claims,
though the wind, the ice and acidified rain
have disfigured and stolen the names of those souls.
My tears they might wash and reveal some of those
but are wasted. They run down my nose.
The #4 Mine blew out in ‘09.
Now ten graves lay neatly in line.
Each man skipped the Army to work underground,
found eternal peace and never were found.
Twenty got out, then the fan house she blew
from an explosion of black damp allowed to accrue.
Ten lives disappeared in the dust and the fumes
And in the dark they were buried like in Brigadoon
I left by the toll road, crested the pass,
crystal streams from Lakedale my compass.
To a sacred valley of aspen and ash.
Ten decades to heal now, tears looking back.
historylink.org/File/9182
and images.findagrave.com/photos/2020/49
/19026379_61b0f05c-4e3f-4938-82d3-5f06c999da64.jpeg
Copyright ©
Ken Rone
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