Poets' Corner

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 15, 8 April 1927, Page 10

Poets' Corner

THE WRITER (Written for THE SUN.) He takes the things that other men pass by. And forges them to shapes of living fire. A heart responsive, an observant eye, He welds to these Ambition's fierce desire, And by the power of his magic pen Is master of the world’s great thronging mart; For well he knotvs, beyond all other men, A thousand roads to reach the human heart. M. H. POYNTER. Southland. THE BIRD (Written for THE SUN.) There flies across the sea, when comes the night, A lonely, lovely, snowy-breasted bird, Straight from the circle of the sun’s gold light, Which sinks into the sunset clouds that herd, As if in fear, low down in western sky. The gentle zephyrs catch its outstretched wing, And, low and sad I hear its mournful cry. While on the beach the happy wavelets sing. Once, lovely bird, you were a maiden sweet. Who drowned herself in yonder gleaming sea; Cheeks and lips so pale, ice from, head to feet, ’Twas thus they bore you home across the lea. They crossed your pallid hands upon your breast. And hid your slender limbs ’neath snoicy sheet; They said, "Poor soul, she’s happy noic at rest, Life's cruel tempests no more round her beat.” I sometimes see a bird when shadows fall, Beneath the touch of Evening’s fragrant feet, And drape the shore and sea in soft dark pall — A bird whose plumes are white as winding sheet. MADELINE HONEY. Auckland.