They laughed at one I loved
– The triangular hill that hung Under the Big Forth.
They said That I was bounded by the whitethorn hedges
Of the little farm and did not know the world.
But I knew that love’s doorway to life
Is the same doorway everywhere.
Ashamed of what I loved I flung her from me and called her a ditch
Although she was smiling at me with violets.
But now I am back in her briary arms;
The dew of an Indian Summer morning lies
On bleached potato-stalks – What age am I?
I do not know what age I am, I am no mortal age;
I know nothing of women,
Nothing of cities,
I cannot die Unless I walk outside these whitethorn hedges.
Copyright © Estate of Katherine Kavanagh