IS TUSA...MO THEACH RÚNDA BEAG
(You Are...My Little Secret House)

My house
a hedge

on my uncle's farm
that only existed

in summer
holiday land.

In terms of time
it is the year

called 1963
but that is neither

here nor there
for this is the timeless time

of a small boy who
wishes to be invisible.

Found when falling
from a tree

into a fairy tale
hedge of many

years standing
thick and tangled with time.

Door?
There is no door.

One has to beat
one's way in.

The only door is pain
and determination.

Endure the sting of nettle
the scratch of briar.

Crying is the only thing
not allowed

Burrs clinging to curls
and geansaí

transforming you
into a wild creature.

Dock leaves stand near by
to take the sting out of things.

The hedge closing
behind you.

But once inside
it blossoms out into

a makeshift  palace
that only a child could cherish

A hedgehog
keeps house.

The other occupants
various creepy crawlies.

Sunlight now and then
comes to visit.

Sometimes the rain
drops in

gossiping in drips
and drabs.

A roof of bird song
and green sunlight.

A wall of pig squeals and chicken clucks.
A wall of moos and barkings.

I a creature
amongst other creatures

Sharing this
the same moment.

Grateful I am
for their acceptance.

Oh I must go. . .
a butterfly needs to talk to me.