I have met them coming and going
among cramped up hedgerows,
boxed in *boreens
Some are kin and some are killing
blows hidden by Fuschia flames
Camouflaged in kindness
ambiguity crowns their smiles
An inch not a mile no further
to walk together was once the while
Wily as old foxes meeting older hens
Walking down a straight road
negotiating bends.
*Irish:A Boreen is a small country lane.
