To Lorrie

(With apologies to J.C.B.)

Like Hermes of the eager flashing limbs
(We trust like Artemis he kept them clean)
Who erst on Thracian forest-paths was seen
Watching the shepherds troll their Bacchic hymns—
The urgent Hermes, who perchance still skims,
Scorning the sceptics of the years between,
Amongst the thickets and the pastures green,
And speeds unwirelessable Olympian whims—
Like him you poised upon the slippery crags
That bound Orongorongo's restless stream,
And caught the sun-sprayed splendour of the morn;
And then—a frightful splash; and we, forlorn,
Midst language most ungodlike, must redeem
Our blankets, sugar, onions, wet as shags.

Dicton.