Paekakariki Hill 1991

The streams of our youth ran rich with invisible lines
Reflections warbled on a flowing mirror
As bare feet scrambled on slimy rocks
Both less sure than they seemed

We splashed and fell in our best shorts
Among waterfalls, whirligigs, and bleating sheep

Swinging sticks like swords, we warred on grassy slopes
Hunting spiders under stones and lifting plastic bags like pennants
Cast into turbulent thermals with the seagulls and salt spray

The pioneering spirit of childhood, to seek the highest peak
Our shrill voices not yet broken
Echoing through an age of whimsy


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