Mark Pirie Poem
Words of a carver, poet, storyteller
lie on my floor, crumpled like the car
he once rolled in the Wairarapa.
Well, I guess I've been there too…
angry in our youth, then growing.
Life's a journey, and now you are dead.
I pick up your web, the threads of your
life, piece it all back together, take
your kite of knowledge and offer it
as koha for the living. You would smile,
man, if you knew, and your words will come
alive once again and stand in the world
of men, while the waves at Lyall Bay
continue to wash all trace of you away.