TO MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS We were not so far apart you and I When the thunder broke from the blackened sky We were not so far apart And when the echo rolled away Deep down in the slanting day We dreamed. Or when the lightning struck Behind the drawn blind Not I alone rushed heaven-wards In the wake it left behind No, we were not so far apart, we When the waters rushed with mad glee Down the garden path Mine was not the only dream Washed beyond the pantry window Like some desire in a far off flooded stream

Three Poems by Hone Tuwhare TIME AND THE CHILD Tree earth and sky Reel to the noontide beat Of sun and the old man Hobbling down the road. Cadence Of sun-drowned cicada In a child's voice shrilling: …. are you going man Where are you going man where The old man is deaf To the child. His stick makes deep Holes in the ground. His eyes burn to a distant point Where all roads converge …. The child has left his toys And hobbles after the old Man calling: funny man funny man Funny old man funny Overhead the sun paces And buds pop and flare. NO ORDINARY SUN Tree let your arms fall: Raise them not starkly in supplication To the bright enhaloed cloud. Let your arms lack toughness and Resilience for this is no mere axe To blunt, nor fire to smother. Your sap shall not rise again To the moon's pull … No more incline a deferential head To the wind's talk or stir to the tickle Of coursing rain. Your former shagginess shall not be wreathed With the delightful flight of birds Nor shield Nor cool the ardour of unheeding lovers From the monstrous sun … Tree let your naked arms fall Nor extend vain entreaties to the radiant ball. This is no gallant monsoon's flash— No dashing trade wind's blast …. The fading green of your magic Emanations shall not make pure again These polluted skies—for this is no ordinary sun …. O tree in the shadowless mountains The white plains and The drab sea floor Thine end at last is written. SONG Gay Wind Impudent lover of trees— Why do you sing grey lamentations To a shallow sky? The headlands await your coming and the mute crags lend a pensive ear To the listless drag of the sea's feet. Tree Your muscles leap and tense But will not free the wind held captive In your branches. Gay wind Why do you sing grey lamentions To a shallow sky?