I have climbed the high steps to the end of my estate. On the edge of this new frontier there are two things obvious to me:
One is a long road stretching all the way to Blessington.
The other is an old abandoned cottage.
Its botched roof is covered in blue plastic, sadly drooped over the gaping holes, like a worn and tattered flag.
I can just about see some battered roots out the back, a grave-yard for antlers, at loggerheads.
and so there you are my love, full of expectation, still scowling as the heavy trucks push past:
What does she want?
Is it the kitchen sink?
A wedding dress?
Am I really the one who can mend her roof?
Yes...
and you would drag me to the other side of this road as proof, you who would keep me there in an ivory palace,
my own hapless scapegoat.
But I think you should confess.
You could tell me that you are the end all be all if nothing else.
Just tell me that one truth.
So I may then hurl my body towards the mercy of all this raging traffic.
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