But here we shrinking violets congregate
Behind the rows of socks and loungery
And sheepskinned, leathered gloves at odds to date
With blanket company, we look to see -
Beyond this forest, small and sparse and grey,
Through weak tea steam and clouds of talk -
Each other - before we lower our gaze again,
Half-listening to our elders, sip tea and gawk
At stories heard before, before, before
Or gentle streams of love and prejudice.
It paints us both: a blush amongst the lore;
The moment vapours in self-consciousness.
It's just as well - the insult was too great:
We must heed our blood before it's all too late.
