Hone Tuwhare is gone. Of his poems, Friend is my favourite.
An extract:
Friend,
in this grim time
of dark unrest I press your hand
if only for reassurance that all
our jewelled fantasies were real
and wore splendid garb.Perhaps the tree
will strike fresh roots again:
give soothing shade to a hurt
and troubled world.


1 response so far ↓
Chris // Thursday 17 January 2008 at 1:08 pm |
Bummer.