Cultural

Gone the bog

By Michael O'Donnell

Gone today that lively lilt
From the larks sweet song
As high above the steaming moor
It hangs for hours long
For it laments the passing
Of Slean man brave and bold
Who sweated on the turf banks
As they cut the soft dark gold

I remember when in Spring
'Twas to the bog we'd go
Before we'd start upon the work
We'd set the fire aglow
And then was set the lines
Before was peeled the scraw
With slean in sturdy hands
The dark mud we would gnaw

A can of clear water
Placed upon the fire
Soon the men would down their tools
And around the fire retire
With mugs of tea strongly brewed
And egg or two to eat
Away from life's hard bustle
This was sure a treat

All along the mountain side
Workers would have been
Toiling at their tasks all day
Happy it would seem
So close up there to nature
Away from worldly care
The bog was unpolluted
With lots of pure sweet air