West Coast Memories Poem by Rod Morris

When you're down upon the West Coast, where the surf comes rolling in,
You'll know you've met a Coaster, when you catch that cheeky grin.
A face that's wrinkled by the sun, that's weathered by the storm.
Those friendly eyes that look at you, and make you feel so warm.

When thunder talks and lightning walks, when rain tattoos the ground.
From hidden greenstone valleys, huge boulders tumble down.
Once more its still, bush birds trill, the sun breaks through the cloud.
In mossy dales like bridal veils, the mist floats like a shroud.

The icy blueness of the rivers as they hurtle to the sea.
The greenness of giant beech forests that rise majestically.
The rosy glow of mountain snow when the sun sinks in the west.
Bright starry nights without street lights; the moon a silver crest.
Sun sequinned waves caress the shore; polish shells and schist.
The creamy foam the driftwood high; the early morning mist.

Alas your sojourn's over; why do good times never last?
Bags are packed your hook is slung; you're heading for the Haast.
Think back on all those great days, the folks that you have met.
The inner peace the scenery, they're things you'll not forge
Just one more thing I'd like to say as to them I drink a toast.
Your life becomes much richer when you've dallied on the Coast.