The city of Auckland its roads spreading wide, <br />twisting and winding like webs from a spider. <br />Maori descendents spread culture and pride, <br />while attempting to tolerate, me the outsider. <br /> <br />To the south of the city, a town Papakura, <br />Papa (flat) , kura (the precious red earth.) <br />Home to some wealthy but more often poorer, <br />inhabitants blessed by free will or by birth. <br /> <br />The suns golden rays caress green hills of Drury, <br />a small country town, once known for its coal. <br />Now warming each heart and soul just as surely <br />as sights of a newly born calf or a foal. <br /> <br />Between these two towns is my home my delight, <br />trees that alter in shape and texture each year. <br />Spring colours cause breath to catch at the sight, <br />Drury Hills bathed in sunlight, heaven so near. <br /> <br />So although not a native and born elsewhere, <br />forty years it has taken to bring me to being. <br />So privileged to spend each tomorrow and share, <br />inspiration and pleasure in what I am seeing. <br /> <br />Endless blue skies boast of spring over farmland, <br />branches once naked stretch out to transform. <br />Rampant is growth seeming wild and unplanned, <br />tempting blossom and blooms to bask, to feel warm. <br /> <br />And I the outsider have roots bound securely, <br />in precious red earth that holds secrets of living. <br />And know as I look to the green hills of Drury. <br />that Spring leads our world in the art of forgiving. <br /> <br /> <br />(Roan Oct.2007)<br /><br />Ann Beard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-green-hills-of-drury/
