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Single sheet of paper, 29.5 x 21cm
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[Poem, white rectangular paper with black typed print.]

[Poem reads]

A Tribute to the memory of Alfred Kennedy Monk.
Born 27th January 1903——Died 24th October 1990.


Surrounded by the ranges, trails guided by the streams,
There lie many pleasant memories beyond Alf's childhood dreams,
The Mangaone is the mainstream, joined by rivelets to the shore,
The Ngatiawa contributes from the valley he adored.

The history, and heritage, there's stories to be told,
May I reflect on Alf Monk's life, ——— as I tell, it will unfold.
George Alexander and Ethel, were the parents of his birth,
Raised by his Grand Parents, ———— to love the hills and earth.

Reiki was his favourite playground, where he swam and skinned his knees,
With hills to clim, —— and streams to fish,—— he hunted among the trees.
In the native bush he was at home,——— at peace, ——— where air blew free,
The ferns he loved,———and his love of life, he reflected on folk like me.
Although he loved the farmland, he also loved the sea,
From where he'd bring some pippi's or a schnapper for our tea.

With his father and his brothers together they farmed much land,
Years ago with few "mechanicals'" most chores were done by hand.

Haymaking was the season when all families were involved,
And with neighbours to assist, —— there were few problems to be solved.
Back in the days of pitchforks, —— of cockies, —— haystacks and thatching,
Draught horses,—— pulled the equipment,——— they took very little catching.
Darkie, —— was a favourite,——— he pulled the grabb up high,
By walking forward, —— and backing up, —— all day beneath blue sky.
Meg and Bruno were the faster pair, they worked out in the field.
Gathering in the hay to stick it high, —— from the sun it made a shield.

When the hay was done the men moved off, —— there were more chores to do,
With cows to milk and pigs to feed, —— and throw a dog a bone to chew.
Many were the haystacks, built and thatched each year,
Then tractors came, a new ball game, now round bales get the cheer.

For fifty years and then two more, with Majory by his side,
Together they farmed, ——— and raised six children,
Sometimes swimming against the tide.
The years were not all kindly, —— two sons they were to lose,
Paul and Alec left brother Donald, ——— with three sisters to amuse.

Following in their parents footsteps,——— fulfilling their aims in life,
Jenny, Robyn and Elizabeth, with Donald as a mate,
Left the nest, and picked the best,
And set off out the gate.

When they returned, —— as years wore on,
With thirteen —— Grand children growing tall,
And two little Great—grandaughters,
Whose "Pop" was best of all.

Now that his life has ended, and his path is firmly trod,
May his name in Gold be written, in the autographs of God.

Written by Jenny Severinsen.
On behalf of the family.

[Signature in handwritten ink]
J E Severinsen

[Reverse blank]

[Ruth Wright Collection]
Click to Enlarge
Poem, May there be peace in the valley by Jenny SeverinsenPoem, May there be peace in the valley by Jenny Severinsen