With flowering lines, the pohutakawa
Greets the angry, salty waves
And the hard, coastal wind
That moulds its hagged form.
Not asking for a manicured lawn,
It claims this treacherous, crumbling cliff
As its own;
Now strong as one.
And though tortured by trials of unreliable seasons,
Unforgiving tides,
And foreign disease,
We claim it as
Our tree.