The days spent dreaming of a future

And say then, that was my life.

For the days are long –

From the first milk van

To the last shout in the night,

An eternity. But the weeks go by

Like birds; and the years, the years

Fly past anti-clockwise

Like clock hands in a bar mirror

J.P. Donleavy’s Dublin, by Derek Mahon



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La Rentrée 2021

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