There never was so ugly a girl as Buna Low. / Of six sisters, her face stood alone. / At 14, each danced to the altar to and fro. / Five times a maid poor Buna Low.
Her sisters gave an army the town / of boys who loved their sweet Buna Low. / One by one the coal mine did crown / the boys new kings of the underground.
Aunt Buna, grown grey, made pie each day / for the tins her nephews devoured / until the day the methane sparked / and under earth her little boys cowered.
Buna's sisters wailed at the black mouth / where no man came in or out / and the fire burned for a decade / clearing the town of people and doubts.
Aunt Buna Low stayed behind / where she sang to her buried sons. / Her skin withered and hung / as the smoke blacked out the sun.
She cried ten years a tear / so sad God condemned her doom / by churning a storm so cruel / rain made an ocean of the mountain tomb.
The bodies of her boys surfaced on the water / to each Buna swam and kissed. / They cried, "Sweet Aunt Buna Low, / why did you leave us so alone?"
by Cashavelly Morrison