Cotton on the bog
Halfway across the country
From West Coast to East Coast
Galway to Dublin
Ireland to England
But first a stop-off point
At the art gallery
For a coffee and a cake
Or even a spot of lunch
After taking photographs of the cotton
The cotton on the bog
Years later
Or years earlier
But definitely years apart
Although once
The land had
Continued through
To that place
Or another place
Though today I write
Of that place, the special place
With deserted beaches, with the machair
Where a painter called Volbeda, paints from memory
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