Day Tramp, Waitawheta

We have bog-walking feet, walking our feet plodly,

putting up ducks and geese.

It's a plod-long low fog dayful of not-to-say, a listen-to-those-geese

kind of day.

 

We have sleeve-tucking hands, tucking our hands fistly,

mudding up puddle and creek.

It's a fist-tuck mud-fleck springful of know-the-way, go-the-whole-way

kind of day.

 

We are breath-taking a view.

We are wind-cause and blow-effect.

We are selfie-fine.

We are vane pointing east.

 

We have down-walking feet, walking our feet greenly,

bugging up piwakawaka.

It's a green-forth fan-tail featherful of this-is-why, a listen-to-him-laugh

kind of day.

 

We have day-holding hands, holding our hands cuply,

scooping up spring and sun.

It's a sun-cup sip life tickleful of me-and-you, a warm-mug-of-Milo

kind of day.