The cotton in the bog, another photograph opportunity
What haste has forced me to abandon my abandon
Instead we pressed onwards, to Cill Rialaig
Where the real artists offer to display their real craft
None which moves me so much as the sculptor in nature
Whose pebble-chess-pieces, and the like
Were photographed by his daughter
Their Last Stop project caught all and more
Much more than I might have captured
From the cotton in the bog
