Most of the ships have sailed;
Most of the curtains have come down
And yet we scurry through the back streets
Of long dilapidated ports
Poking around the dusty chandlers
For goods that never will wear out.
Provisions for the last ship which Philip knew would come?
What did you know, Seamus, about what was imminent?
So in the green room behind fallen curtains
Shut off from the silenced auditorium,
In the final weeks of over-extended runs,
We practise new ways of shaping lines
With no hope of changing a plot
That was decided long ago.
Stephen Purcell
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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