WAIATA by Colleen Sheffield My life is slowly ebbing away, As the tide recedes from the shores of Kaipara. You, my wife, implore me to think, On my will, my last wishes for you and the children. But my mind is not on those things. My wairua in fancy is roving The hills, dales and beaches of Aotearoa. Oh! My beloved homeland! With cherished companions of other years, And other journeys, I am in haunts, Grown dear in the decades gone by. Again I stand on Oneonenui pa, On a warm Spring day. The Tasman wind, the Hauauru, Disarrying the long tresses of childhood. My feet are buried in karaka leaves, And the scent of ti kouka is in the air. In memory, I drop over the parapet. To the long outer line of the fort. From there I swiftly descend, To the whispering, shifting sands. Tiny, grey grains of glistening sand, You have known the feet of many. Kawharu … big feet those! Hongi's despised and hated men, And Matenga, gentle and wise, Your first pakeha, perhaps. All are obliterated now by time, And my spirit feet leave no mark.