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Schnapper Rock
All that ever was is all that ever will be
and its pass of years washed to the sea.
O’ but haply here I stand in your stead
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 my 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 -
is it mine to sail beyond the human seas
or to bear the twelve labours of Hercules?
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 alas some burn out but still shine on.
But for us all at every last turn and bend
the road to Schnapper Rock is a dead end!
Written: May 1992
Copyright ©
Keith D Trestrail
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