The Native New Zealander

My name is Kereru and I love to fly.
Over native New Zealand, high in its skies.
Not the flightless bird, that is an icon I know.
But just as important, as native birds go.

I’m majestic and colourful, can be compared.
To beautiful parrots, who fly in fresh air.
I sit on tree branches, testing bounce till they break.
No weakly-sickly-bird, certainly no fly-weight.

My colours are white-bronze-blue-green.
I’m the most beautiful wood pigeon, the worlds ever seen.
Pleasure is all mine, when with steady gentle beak.
From a tree pluck wild berries, their juices to reap.

Once guava juices how flowed, in a trance I can doze.
Dream with contentment, for a photo-call-pose.
Then for an earned rest, after food that borders greed.
Whilst humans watch, Great Kereru feeds.

After I’m rested, basked in sun’s warm rays.
And before sunset, at the end of each day.
I fly to see my family, who will be scattered all around.
Or watching from a perch, high off the ground.

When evening closes, and sunray fade to dim.
It’s time to think of possums, a blow-in-sin.
They gorge on food, that keeps us natives alive.
Jumping from treetop to treetop, in dare-devil dives.


GOTTA GO FIND SOME BERRIES -

BEFORE DRATTED POSSUMS GET THEM.

Whoosh…………