Let Them Not Make Me A Stone

Down The Road Someone Is Practicing Scales, The Notes Like Little Fishes Vanish With A Wink Of Tails

Today I Am So At Home In Dublin, More Than In Any Other City, That I Feel It Has Always Been Familiar To Me. But, As With Belfast It Took Me Years To Penetrate Its Outer Ugliness And Dourness, So With Dublin It Took Me Years To See Through Its Soft Charm To Its Bitter Prickly Kernel - Which I Quite Like Too.

The Sunlight On The Garden Hardens And Grows Cold, We Cannot Cage The Minute Within Its Nets Of Gold

I Was The Rector's Son, Born To The Anglican Order, Banned For Ever From The Candles Of The Irish Poor; The Chichesters Knelt In Marble At The End Of A Transept With Ruffs About Their Necks, Their Portion Sure.

A City Built Upon Mud; A Culture Built Upon Profit; Free Speech Nipped In The Bud, The Minority Always Guilty. Why Should I Want To Go Back To You, Ireland, My Ireland?