Schnapper Rock
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I
All that is below is all that will ever be,
and its pass of years washed to the sea;
but haply here I stand in your stead
alone beside the Estuary of the Dead.
II
Hear the pitch and hum of nest and hive,
the winged sea wolves its depths to dive.
Angels and demons in my head recite
on the banks of Lucas Creek at first light.
III
Naked mudflats her silent wake swell
and gravediggers heap clay in the quell;
Waitemata tides at the rivermouth gate
will bury its Big Muddy under its weight.
IV
I hear soft tones of old tui's silvery trill
out of the pine forest's late autumn chill.
Ruminate at peace by the tranquil wave
alas crouched upon your bone filled grave.
V
Embalmed is the air with the May flower,
and dark clouds gather my memorial hour;
allow me my idle bluster and in it abide
for verily it comes and goes with the tide.
VI
Sometimes I wonder at the fates of men
at the point of death upon this quiet fen -
is it mine to sail afar the western seas
or bear the twelve labours of Hercules?
VII
What mortal stars have this realm shone,
some burnt out, some taken - all are gone!
So shall it be on these upper harbours
when I too am resting with my fathers.
Written: May 1992
Copyright © Keith D Trestrail | Year Posted 2022
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