Te Tuahu o te Atua— the altar of the God is silent— the fairy people gather no more on the mighty mountain. Ihenga has fled, smeared in ochre and shark oil, his feet singing fear down Ngongotaha's slopes.
I shall sing little songs for Tongakohu; for the fairy people banished from the forest air; songs as light as the flight. of Piwakawaka, a singing, sad as the first bird-note of Koromako in the mist-shaped dawn.
In the silence, at Ngongotaha's feet, I shall place a white stone, a red stone, bright as the evening star, a blue orchid from the forest floor. On all sides of the mountain there is silence– for Tongakohu and the fairy people are no more.
—Susi Robinson Collins
