Changed Skies

When night brings out the stars, the Little Bear,
I sense a loss,
Hear voices from a land down there,
Beneath the Cross.

Ever they call; to me they call the more
Because I know
Pohutukawas flush her shore,
A crimson row.

Because the kowhai blossoms throw their gleams
Of gold, old gold,
Upon the banks where silver streams
The image hold.

Forsake her beauty not for lands beyond,
For you shall learn,
Beneath strange stars, that you are bond
To flower and fern.