The Exile.
The Kowhai will be blooming now
In gleaming clouds of gold beside the stream—
It will be mirrored in the water now
As thoughts are mirrored in a dream,
And I not there to see!
The Kowhai will be blooming now—
A thousand bells of gold and yellow ringing
In all the winds that blow;
A thousand liquid-throated tuis singing
And I not there to see!
The Kowhai will be blooming now—
A thousand golden petals on the grass;
And all the birds will linger there to sip
Those nectar-scented petals as they pass
And I not there to see!

Désirée A. N. Frain.

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