‘That great O Le Langi seems most faithful to us;
Therefore, though all the forest children desert us,
We still put forth our hands and scatter stars—
Stars across the skies of shadowland.
We still break old moons across our mighty knees
To brighten the Atua halls of long ago!
We still catch winds that creep across worlds of mortals
And take from their shifting, clutching fingers
The thoughts of dead mothers for children.
We still gently pull out the thoughts of dead maids and hopeful loves