with her hands it's at least a couple of miles long. I have to laugh. ‘Where are they taking her?’ asks Terryboy. ‘Well, you know where Maketu Nanny is don't you?’ ‘Oh yes,’ they all nod knowingly. ‘She's in the ground at Maketu.’ ‘Under all the dirt,’ adds Carol. ‘Well, they're going to take Rewi down for a mate for her.’ ‘Oh!’ Again solemn nods and sighs. The problem has been solved logically, and they run off, brown legs disappearing into the yellow summer grasses. The sun is warm on my face. It's a fine day for the tangi.

A Warning of Pirongia The soft drumming of rain, Wets the window-pane. Misty, the sky connects Hill to hill, Where roams still …. Nga Patu-paiarehe. Moaning softly on the wind Of an age gone by; Calling for his earthly kin To join him in the sky; Soft and high, Long and clear. Mount the sky, And disappear. Eddying clouds his horse; Moaning winds his voice; Whispering leaves his thoughts; Misty hills his choice. Climb not that hill, For there are many dangers; Unseen they haunt, Still taunt …. Nga Patu-paiarehe. —John Barrett

Deep Mystery Deep mystery Black, and cool, and reflective. Give back to the onlooker Something of that native calm Shadows and shifting shadows Breaking and breaking And forming with darkness Shadows and shifting shadows Like the eyes one can never read. Slanting sun … The rays like silver spears Cool waters, silver and black Shimmery and cool Touch those ferns—the dark green And, unbidden, like a sigh, the whisper of Te Reinga Sadness and sorrow, drooping and swaying Even as the women of the death wail And like a slow unveiling The mystery … It is there in the ripple of mosses The pleading silence of the grey Kauri Look down, oh King of my heart See the darkness your shadow has cast? Tane!—oh Tane! plead not with this silence Come Kereru … your voice brings pain to my heart Why does your voice plead of that which I do not understand? Murmer on Awa Shadows and shifting shadows Deep mystery … Tarie's tears, the sorrow of a land … Come back. Awa Don't leave … ferns, dark green, and grey rock Touch them, they are cold Deep below them runs now a mighty river The forest is cold, many hours have passed, I have found the death of a river And the sorrow of a land Which has said ‘Farewell’. —Dinah Moengarangi Rawiri.