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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=365824" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Pengellen</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Each winter the grey-greying streets of Pengellen<br>Fall silent as dampness creeps in at the hearth, <br>And miners and men speak in whispers of heaven, <br>Of darkness and penance, of copper and dearth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No children are seen on the streets of Pengellen, <br>Each wife fears her shadow, and hurries inside, <br>While mirrors have long been discarded, forgotten<br>That no man may see what his God may decide.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For so it was once that the men of Pengellen<br>Were busy and purposeful, masters of time, <br>The wealth that they won taught that greed was forgiven<br>Though every man feared, and was ruled by the mine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For deep in the earth with a pick or a chisel, <br>A shovel, an oath in a gaelic discourse, <br>They quarried the bowels of some God-awful midden<br>To pile the green copper in place of the gorse.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So pitted the surface from shaft to Pengellen, <br>So pitted and scorched that no flower would grow, <br>And brown was the landscape, and scarred was the bracken<br>That burst from the copper-green dirt down below.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">While every stone cottage gleamed white in Pengellen<br>To mock at the bracken that patently lied, <br>For every small child played as happy as heaven<br>As if they believed they had God on their side.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The copper ran deeper than deep flowing runnels, <br>The miners would blast, and then pump and shore up, <br>‘Til some had remarked, ‘were the heavens so tunnelled<br>The mine would arrive with the first taken up.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And higher and high were the skimps by Pengellen<br>‘Like mountains by men’ was the miner’s assent, <br>Their pride went in hand with their wealth and their women, <br>And Godless and grim was the worship they spent.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They drilled to the sixty and six hundredth level, <br>With six levels more to blast out, pump and shore, <br>No man could have known that the deeper he tunnels, <br>The darker the horror he finds at his door.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They ranged at the back as the copper was falling, <br>Stood silent in shock at some evil refrain, <br>As into the light groped the Prince of the Morning<br>From where he’d been cast in his thousand year chain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The miners streamed back to the streets of Pengellen, <br>They crowded the Kirk that had never been filled, <br>And prayed to the Lord they had always forsaken, <br>Then went to their cottages, locked themselves in.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">While stamping and raging the length of Pengellen<br>He called for an anvil to shatter his chain, <br>The mist and ill wind that had told of his coming<br>Were never to lift from Pengellen again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">These sixty long years have brought change to Pengellen<br>No child has grown old and no miner has died, <br>They fast on a bread that is flat and unleavened, <br>And drink brackish water for penance beside.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The cottages now are both damp and rat-ridden, <br>Are grey and neglected, and empty of cheer, <br>And deep-dense the mist that encloses the midden<br>Pengellen is lost for the best of each year.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">While whispered at evens are long supplications<br>White-faced behind windows both bolted and barred, <br>And dearth is a thousand years waiting to happen, <br>While green is a colour considered ill starr’d.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">29 February 1984</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=David+Lewis+Paget">David Lewis Paget</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=365824" data-title="Pengellen de David Lewis Paget" data-description="Each winter the grey-greying streets of Pengellen
Fall silent as dampness creeps in at the hearth, 
And miners and men speak in whispers of heaven, 
Of darkness and penance, of copper and dearth.

No children are seen on the streets of Pengellen, ..."></div>
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