Freemans Journal 16th September, 1920 p12
The Slide Cars
We gathered the turf in the dusky bog,
And hauling it home on sliding cars,
We left the moor with its murky fog
And the mountainside with its stars.
But it seems to me, as I sit and poke
The burning earth from that mountain fen.
That we brought the fog and the stars as smoke
And sparks going back again
To a misty bog that holds the heat
Of a mountain stacked with burning stars.
Faith, it seems to me that we hauled both peat
And dreams on the sliding cars