Beneath the Rubble
Why should not old men be mad?
How We Lived Then
Because we love the hills, the falling dark
Accidents in the Home
Here, pausing at the entrance
If anybody half as fair
I call on those who call me brother
I met this bishop in the Turkish Baths
Three old codgers on the beach
A murmur of too-soft words
The Dublin Gutter
There is safety in derision, the pack surrounds
The moon is staggering
How long will it take will it take, to hit the ground?
Much did I rage before
A noble horse, a dog, and faithful both, are dead
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