When I strut Auckland’s ridges,
Treading its burnt bones
I’m like a tall lady in a crinoline.
I can’t stop my hands from fluttering,
Smoothing down the sloping silk,
As I admire the streets and trees swirling from me
On the Glenfield, Parnell or Ponsonby ridge lines.
Best of all, I circle the top of Mt Eden’s crater
With all Maungawhau tumbling from my waist band.