Schnapper Rock
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All that ever was is all that ever will be
and its pass of years washed to the sea.
O’ death is woe, and I am as I feared
alone beside the Estuary of the Dead.
Hear the pitch and hum of nest and hive,
the winged sea wolves its depths to dive -
spirits and demons in my head recite
on the banks of Lucas Creek at first light.
In its silent wake rising wetlands swell
and gravediggers heap clay in the quell.
Waitemata tides at the rivermouth gate
will bury its mudflats under its weight.
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
sat crouched upon your bone filled grave.
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.
Sometimes I wonder at the fates of men
at the point of death upon this quiet fen -
are my slings and arrows my fate to be
and alas all my triumphs a pyrrhic victory?
There's a sign that reads "Eternity Ahead"
where many are called and many are led.
I will look out on these upper harbours
when I too am resting with my fathers.
What mortal stars have this realm shone
and how some burn out but still shine on.
But to all who pass its last one way bend
the road to Schnapper Rock is a dead end!
Written: May 1992
Copyright © Keith D Trestrail | Year Posted 2024
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