In these quiet moments before the night
Softens the mountains of the South
And deflates the clouds
That float beneath their peaks,
The dying sun’s rich, peach glow
Deepens in the gathering gloom.
There, where the mists stretch
A false horizon between the sea
And the land’s end
Aratika glides across the trackless strait
And winks out beyond Terawhiti.
Taputeranga Island looms up in the bay
Beneath my windows,
Gathering grandeur in the shadows
That blot the features of little wonder,
Commanding the bay in a mysterious night.
It is light, the night has passed in fitful sleep
And the dawn greets the gulls cry
As they circle a softer countenanced island,
The fishing boats point into the wind
That crawls a trance-like, ripple-pattern
Across the bay.
The day begins a pastel glow
Behind the Heads, and spreads
Its cloudless scan to the mountains
Which stand impassively guarding the Strait.