Thursday 23 November 2017

Aras and graces

•I know that everyone deserves a little honeymoon time in their new appointment, but for me the soft words lightly tripping from Michael D Higgins's little lips, peppered with his cupla focal, weighted by his pause and sway are like the wooden instruments of the bards of old: a trifle hollow and not holding much uisce, mar a deirthear. And so, aptly, to verse:

"The teletublian grandeur of his language would make Myles weep.

Despite fawning journalists supping from his tiny teat.

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