It went up one day. Gunpowder, TNT,
a shoe-lace, a ring, a spark.
Condemned the cornfields round about,
still bringing bodies out after a fortnight.
You don’t mind when you’re young –
you sing away as if nothing had happened.
(From Audio Memories of a WW1 Munitions Factory Explosion. Submitted by H L Foster)
Verbatim Poetry 