Et in Arcadia Ego.

I had chased an absconding swarm of bees through the bush

Past the ancient puriri tree up onto the ridge.

They were nowhere to be seen or heard.


Returning home I was surprised to see Stafford sprawled under the pohutakawa

Lazily resting in the shade in the heat of the day, we talked.

A month later Stafford lay sprawled dead, from a fall, not far from the same spot,


He too had been in the land of joy and beauty.