THE LOST MOKOPUNA
In the mist from the sea, He stands on the clifftop.
A grandfather, whispering and calling to the lost Mokopuna.
His skin Phosphorescent – as he sings to stars,
And Communes with the albatross.
He sings to the trees and blesses them
Now crimson adored – spilling.
And the sea is wild – it roars and foams and swells
Gnawing at rocks and roots.
But these hold fast – they have the power.
From long ago – to now.
Today – mist has gone and sky is clear,
Blue as the quiet sea.
Sunlight glints on tiny wavelets
And heats the land.
These trees still stand – beautiful
Formidable, enduring and noble,
Roots attached to rock and crevice.
They will endure.
Dark shadows flit beneath
Like dancing fantails.
Crimson flowers – full again.
Some scatter – fallen
Like old memories of blood spilled,
Yet also life renewed.
Today the Mokopuna stands in this place.
His skin glows – phosphorescent
As he speaks of this land,
Her people and the sea.
Trees behind him nod
In a gentle breeze, sun warmed.
They still hold scarlet – once again.
The grandfather is calling – softly now.
His voice rustles the words “look to the albatross”.
Then he smiles – a secret smile.
It is for the Mokopuna.
(From the ancient Pa site – Hikoi).