Out in the west see the clouds swiftly massing;
Feel the chill sting of the wind that is passing;
Hear the wild gulls as they wheel in the sky,
Warning us mortals with dolorous cry.
God of the tumults, Tāwhirimatea,
Father of storms, with destruction, is near
Seeking anew his great vengeance of old,
Smiting his brothers with tempest and cold.
Dark is his face in the sky with his wrath
Flashing, his eye, as the lightning springs forth-
Threat'ning and deep comes the thunder, his voice-
Shrieking, the winds, in their mad flight rejoice.
Great is the pow'r of the God of the storm;
Awful, his wrath, in its terrible form,
Wreak'd on his brothers for tearing apart
Rangi and Papa, those dear to his heart.
Up 'mid the tow'ring mountains
White with snow,
Up where the swirling white mists
Softly flow,
Up 'mid the dark cold peaks and
Caverns deep-
Goddess of Death was lying,
Fast asleep.
None had her cold dominions
Ever sought,
None to her gloom steeped boundaries
Had been brought,
Never was need for her at
Watch to keep-
Nothing disturb'd her long and
Peaceful sleep.
Up from the world below
To this white realm of snow,
Māui came stealthily
To conquer Death;
Sturdy and bold was he,
And from all fear was free-
He would fight fearlessly
To his last breath.
Goddess of Death awoke,
Ere Māui made the stroke
That would have freed mankind
From Death's great pow'r.
Māui was slain instead,
First of the sacred dead;
Honoured and great was he
To his last hour.
Up 'mid the tow'ring mountains
White with snow,
Up where the swirling white mists
Softly flow,
Up where the dark cold peaks are
Headstones all-
Goddess of Death sleeps not, but
Waits for all.
Poems © A. Stanley Sherratt