I’d hate to be a hairbrush,
by the mirror, waiting there;
my bristles would get clogged up
with strands of yucky hair.
Everybody uses me,
no one seems to care;
red hair, black hair, grey hair too —
a technicolor scare!
Image from Pexels by RDNE Stock project
It looks like just
a ruined boat,
but what if we
could make it float?
We’d sail downriver
and out to sea,
with a yo-ho-ho,
my friends and me.
I’d be captain,
they’d be crew,
so they’d do what
I told them to.
We’d sail to China,
and then Peru,
on our own boat
on the ocean blue.
Old ship in Marlborough Sound, New Zealand. Photo by Ginette Pestana
Roses are red, violets are blue,
but flowers aren’t sweet enough!
Only cannoli will win my heart —
forget the usual stuff!
Cannoli are creamy,
A yummy bouquet,
the perfect gift
on Valentine’s Day.
Cannoli on show in Rome. Photo by Ginette Pestana
Kindness is the biggest thing,
kindness makes the whole world sing.
Bigger than the mountains here,
deeper than the lakes appear,
kindness makes our lives worthwhile,
kindness always makes us smile.
When you show kindness anywhere,
it means the world that yes, you care.
New Zealand mountains seen from helicopter. Photo by Ginette Pestana
The fires came through the other day,
blazing fierce, no warning given.
A careless spark, a flash of red,
and then it grew, by strong winds driven.
It jumped the road, it charred the land,
firefighters fought it, no houses lost.
But this was home to wildlife too;
in terms of them, who’ll count the cost?
After the Dean fire near Creswick, Victoria. Image courtesy of Gina Pestana
How long have you stood there,
by whose hand were you made?
Your slabs were rough hewn,
but carefully laid
into place, long ago,
still standing but weathered,
where a drover’s horse
was maybe once tethered.
Tell me, did bushrangers
ever ride by you?
Did farmers’ children
once sit astride you?
What stories you’d whisper
of history and such,
of old pioneers
whose memories we touch.
Photo courtesy of Gina Pestana
Where did you come from?
How far did you float?
Too twisted and torn
to come from a boat.
What tide washed you here
and flung you ashore?
If you could but speak,
I’d love to know more.
Looking out to the Tasman Sea from New Zealand. Photo by Ginette Pestana
The new morning
quietly greets the day,
the soft dawning
rippling the bay,
teasing the cloud,
lighting the sky,
boats in a crowd,
and on the shore,
I wonder what the
day will be,
what adventures are
in store for me.
Near Picton, New Zealand. Photo by Ginette Pestana
I will leave behind the old shore,
that spent and weary year,
and cross over to the new,
bright and blue and clear.
I can see the peaks I’ll climb,
I’ll achieve my dreams — you’ll see!
I’ll make the world a better place,
the best year it can be.
A New Zealand lake and mountains. Photo by Ginette Pestana
Since dawn the sky was low,
no glimpse of you allowed;
now I see you clearly,
rising through the cloud.
Brave ones dare to climb you,
facing terrors all the way;
but I’m no mountaineer,
down here I will stay!
Teacher’s note: Mount Cook — Aoraki (its Maori name) — is New Zealand’s highest mountain.
In 2014, its height was given as 3,724 metres.
Photo by Ginette Pestana
