Not currently on the shelf, but we can order it, to pick up in store or have shipped from our remote warehouse.
Prados de flores silvestres y la Orbita de ArcelorMittal en Imagene, el Parque Queen Elizabeth Olimpicos, este de Londres, Juegos Olimpicos, Londres 2012, 5 de Agosto. Una coleccion de fotografias a color de los prados de flores silvestres, y la Orbita de ArcelorMittal en el Parque Olimpico de la reina Isabel en el este de Londres, 05 de Agosto 2012.
About the Author
Interview with Llewelyn Pritchard Where did you grow up, and how did this influence your writing? I grew up on the Black Mountain north of Swansea, South Wales. I haven't really got a clue about how this influenced my writing except I suppose, it instilled in me a great love of nature, adventure and the outdoors. I am the son of an elite collier and I would much rather take this opportunity to dedicate this great and pertinent poem to his memory: "My father was a miner, He worked deep underground; The rush of drams and clanking chains. They were his daily sounds. He worked so far below the ground. Where coal was hewed by pick, The work so hard and wages small He didn't dare go sick. He crawled upon his belly. In drifts so low and narrow, The wind it whistled down the shaft. It chilled him to the marrow. He ate his food from a Tommy box, Shaped like a slice of bread, While squatting down upon the ground, Where spit and crumbs were shed. His water, it was in a Jack, to wet down clouds of dust, That gathered daily in his throat and lungs. Where it formed a deadly crust. We would listen for his footsteps, He then came into sight: This man, our Dad, as black as black, just like the darkest night; Right down his back white rivers ran amongst the dirt and grime, But you cannot wash away blue scars. That you get down the mine. Years now have passed. My father gone, But I am proud to say, My Father was a miner, until his dying day." by William Holden