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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 11, Issue 12 (March 1, 1937)

Destruction

Destruction.

Silence, gentle silence, save the sound
Of birds, their ceaseless twitter
And a stream half-laughing in the ground,
And everywhere the bush,
The green New Zealand bush.

Giants, leafy giants, slender ferns,
The smell of tree trunks rotting,
And the music where a Tui learns
To tune his clever bill,
His sweetly chiming bill.

Changes, many changes now have come,
The years are ever passing,
Time leaves the imprint of his thumb,
And man must bring his axe,
His eager hungry axe.

Burning, fiercely burning are the trees,
Man's fire sweeps through the forest,
The glades I knew he never sees,
He goes his thoughtless way,
His murd'rous, foolish way.

To-day, again to-day I view the scene
Of little hills and valleys,
Barren now, where once the bush had been
In all its splendid green,
Its unspoilt native green.

Silence, mournful silence haunts the place,
And like some vast old graveyard,
Gaunt tree trunks mark the only trace
Of where there once was bush,
The green New Zealand bush.