The wheels have turned
The country slipped me by;
Rolling green hills,
Mountains brooding in cloud.
To see, to speak,
The forgotten shrouds,
Silk curtains parting
To reveal the clowns.
Home among strangers
Where the truth
Is novelty, not some
Troublesome cloak we wear.
Home in the long white cloud
That appears over a narrow
Strip of land on a fault line;
The great calm ocean around.
A.S. 30/5/24 - Auckland