(Dedicated to Mr Fairburn, the Plain Man's Poet)
A grey wind rustles the greenery,
my soul is sad in the bush,
the bloom of the kowhai has fallen, girls,
did somebody give it a push?
I've written a thousand verses
with kowhai gold as my theme,
but now once more in the winter's blast
I've a non-convertible dream.
I am a kowhai lover,
Fort Knox has nothing on me,
but there's nothing to do in the winter time
but hide in a hole in a tree.
With a bag-full of broken biscuits
and my leaky fountain pen
I'll hide in a hole in the puriri tree
till spring comes round again.