At The Abbey Theatre

DEAR Craoibhin Aoibhin, look into our case.

When we are high and airy hundreds say

That if we hold that flight they'll leave the place

While those same hundreds mock another day

Because we have made our art of common things

So bitterly, you'd dream they longed to look

All their lives through into some drift of wings.

You've dandled them and fed them from the book