In the dim, dark corner of my mother's wash house
a young Papatuanuku stands forgotten and alone
She wears her school uniform off her small frame
a cardigan of dark green and a tartan, green dress
Lost and forlorn, tired and forgotten
her young body trembles from exhaustion and cold
She turns to face me with dark, hazel eyes
the sadness of which, goes straight to my soul
She once was revered and held in esteem
and where prayer and ritual were offered to her
But here she now stands amongst laundry and litter
relegated and sent to the back of the house
She gave rise to the Sun and a bed to the Moon
and fed civilisations for a million odd years
but no-longer can she, now feed or sustain
the appetite and hunger of modern day man
I take from my bag a pounamu stone
which sparkles and shimmers bright pink from my touch
As she takes it in hand her hazel dark eyes
begin to turn yellow and brilliantly gold
Our Papatuanuku will soon come of age
where her body will grow and her spirit will soar
and spiritually we will have to evolve
no-longer sustained, by those things of old...
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