With ears borrowed
From my mother,
I can hear the rubbish truck
Removing the sins of another week.
But now, I have hearkened the tui,
Calling my name,
With ears only mine.
Outside of my mind,
Where is the tui?
In the sweet pollen,
And the crimson flowers.
In the warmth of the flax.
A song of my land.
The call of only this.