Where the weka prowls in tall grass,
and kēreru poke their miniature heads
out from sheds,
rocking like little dancers.
Where eels weave their tails through reeds like black,
mythical, creatures waving their way through the river
and like flax weaving through making a flax bag.
and bulrushes stretch,
waking up from a big sleep,
while hiding tiny faces inside the roots of their long sticks.
Where ducks twaddle around,
standing proud with the front of their chest puffed out,
leaving a gunky, slimy,
stinky trail of pond water.
And where a slinky willow sways in the harsh breeze,
singing a whistling song.
Though it is just a piece of New Zealand's natural,
This place speaks NZ to me.