Tag Archives: The Word

Are there More Homeless Irish Than When I Was Blind?

Posted on January 1, 2012 by Tom Bolton

Truly I heard the gentle brogue tonight, a soft, genteel, lilt in his voice. He could sell snow to eskimos, would sell, and yet I heard the uncertainty there, the yearning for his mother’s word-caress. So alone, he wanted to … Continue reading →

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