Harsh is the morning,
its promise still unspoken
a sea of toothpaste white
scrubs a beach not fully woken

I cannot drink you,
or eat until I reach my fill,
I cannot savour every rise and hill,
consume each circling bird that drifts in flight
or charge my glass with graceful morning light,
I can only hold you,
fold you as a memory to keep and put away,
and promise that with luck I may return one day

Milford Sound,
how can I hope to chain you
contain you with a word,
captured like a beetle on a card
for other souls to marvel and to see,
that’s patently absurd
how could pen or brush or eye
portray the loveliness of thee

Where on earth did you come from
what on earth have you seen
so many things have happened
since you were young and green
flowing seas have washed you
smooth on a foreign shore
what places did you visit
when will you see some more

I cannot paint a sky of blue or verdant leaves of green,
the shapes of plants and flowered heads
are pleasures left unseen,
I cannot draw or sketch in place
a glorious mountain scene,
this path is closed
but I have words
to show where I have been

Waving sails in red and white
catch the breeze and early light,
shiny rich men's toys of the ocean
dance in lazy undular motion

Spoilt and pampered season
indulged and petulant spring,
please don't pout and drag your heels
we need the light you bring,
the birds and bees are waiting
so could you make a start
be a dear, stop sulking
it's time you played your part