Huntly
Over the Ngaruawahia Bridge
The river flows beside the rails
A marae on the other side, shining
Into old Huntly town
Bleak, wind swept platform
No shelter anymore
One person gets down
Piles of coal and
old world machinery, technology, appear like ghosts
Pukekohe
Under the hill
Of the once
Abundant
Kohekohe tree
The train enters
The outskirts
Of the great city
Auckland . . .
a commuter train stands waiting at the end of the line
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