Ten months after the disaster at Abefan, I stood across the small valley and stared at the pile of coal slurry that killed 144 people—116 of them children.  I tried to fathom a generation of children wiped out in just 5 minutes. A man made mountain, built over a spring, suddenly gave way burying a farmhouse and a school.

One year after all the children
Were wrapped in sheets.
And put in vans and one year after
All the children’s bodies were buried
Side by side in a long grave,
I walked past Aberfan.
The coal slurry still
Pushed against the houses.
I walked quietly,
Past a silent Aberfan,
Not wanting to disturb those souls–
A generation of children dead.
No sounds of birds or children
Echoed up the hillside
To Cardiff Road
Where I stood stunned,
Struck dumb with the thought
That His eye had been on the sparrow.
What brown feathers rustled in the leaves;
What bright glint passed from eye to eye
When the slurry roared into Aberfan.