The Green Hills Of Drury - Poem by Ann Beard
The city of Auckland its roads spreading wide,
twisting and winding like webs from a spider.
Maori descendents spread culture and pride,
while attempting to tolerate, me the outsider.
To the south of the city, a town Papakura,
Papa (flat) , kura (the precious red earth.)
Home to some wealthy but more often poorer,
inhabitants blessed by free will or by birth.
The suns golden rays caress green hills of Drury,
a small country town, once known for its coal.
Now warming each heart and soul just as surely
as sights of a newly born calf or a foal.
Between these two towns is my home my delight,
trees that alter in shape and texture each year.
Spring colours cause breath to catch at the sight,
Drury Hills bathed in sunlight, heaven so near.
So although not a native and born elsewhere,
forty years it has taken to bring me to being.
So privileged to spend each tomorrow and share,
inspiration and pleasure in what I am seeing.
Endless blue skies boast of spring over farmland,
branches once naked stretch out to transform.
Rampant is growth seeming wild and unplanned,
tempting blossom and blooms to bask, to feel warm.
And I the outsider have roots bound securely,
in precious red earth that holds secrets of living.
And know as I look to the green hills of Drury.
that Spring leads our world in the art of forgiving.
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