TAUPO
When the morning dew is done,
Where the mists all cling, to everthing
Before the rising sun.
To the river and the raupo,
And the song of the flaying Tui
Near the winding floor, by th pummace shore
On the banks of the Waitahanui.
Oh I long to shout, at the thought of a trout,
That rises to the fly,
My heart-strings sing, to the bells that ring,
In those memories that pass me by,
The winds that change, in the mountains range,
Across propelling distant haze,
Ngauruhoe grows, in her hissing repose,
Our seneschal of Taupo’s days.,
Where the clouds all sweep, and the pungas weep,
And Tauhara lifts her crest
As the Lady of Grace, who shows her face
To the rising sun flowing west,
The roads all gleam, by hill-crest and stream,
And the hush of the forests tell
Of times long ago, in the pasts that you know,
That weave an unbroken spell
Yes, I long to go back to Taupo:
To the friends that once passed me by
Like a child that I knew, who marveled and grew
In the mists of her fabulous sky.
C. J. Phelps
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