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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 13, Issue 1 (April 1, 1938.)

[section]

Roots.

Let me not put forth roots to hold me like
An ant revolving in a bounded space,
Its universe an ant-heap. Or a beast
Confined within a jungle.—While I trace
The waving hand of distance let me be
Unfettered, free to wander where I list,
Wherever cities spread their nets to catch
The evening's rose and gold and amethyst.
Let not the love of friends, possessions bind
Me to one land, one town, one house, one aim,
Nor small suburban safety shelter me,
Nor social caste, nor small communal fame,
Let not my soul, when Death's low music calls
Cast longing glances back to earth and sigh
That like a duck enamoured of its pond
I hid my head while life went piping by.
—Christine Comber.