The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 8, Issue 7 (November 1, 1933)
The Flag Station
The Flag Station.
It was our sanctuary. Bare-foot we came,
Leaving the sluggish stream and sandy track
Shag-haunted. Rumour of the bitter sea
Was not far distant. The pellucid name
Was spelled on white in black.
“Wai” gives you water. There was melody
In that stark sign. There came the subtle breath
Of foisanage from sacks within the gloom.
The polished rails stretched like two springing snakes.
The silent track was big with life and death.
A sea-gull wheeled aloft, then in its room
Was grey sky, silent as forgotten lakes.
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