It comes so quickly
the bird of death
from evil forests of Soviet technology
the bird of death
from evil forests of Soviet technology
A diverse collection of poems I like.
My longing is told to the wind;
Is it a thing in which one may joy,
That in this land we abide?
Fair beckons the strand of Keitahi,1
And the wave-beat of Tausisivatvaki1—
Who is there content to stay here?