convenant in wood

from out the earthen mould
raging seas whistling winds, the blistering cold
a whalers life I know nothing less
proportionate to colonial savagery
actually a declining sense of well being
free reign-thinking, of my queen
a nearby pa shelters the darkness
sleepers

I acknowledge no queen
and admiringly neither do they
yet the land, the very being of the women
is looking to be occupied
and ignorantly tamed
a royal charter in a hand so dainty
does soothe my white soul
but the natives have a fire
the ones they call rangi
and papa let's hope meddling
royal muddlers don't burst this
survey of lands incumbent slumber

but what's this I feel months pass a few hundred years
I see the pottery
the sense the words convey
the precision backed by the government's decision to blow
the dust from this wee trifle
but we shall enjoy the taste of our treat
our treacle
I shall pray for this place to last
and the native people's ways and customs
revived
but people who incumber and taint our mythic peak
will resume sleeping in this dusty kororareka
and begin dreaming under our bold new leader
but we shall see our speakers have halls that stand
imbibed with spirit
that is atua
let's hope this covenant survives
and let our people see to it
that it thrives