II

An aged man is but a paltry thing,

A tattered coat upon a stick, unless

Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing

For every tatter in its mortal dress,

Nor is there singing school but studying

Monuments of its own magnificence;

And therefore I have sailed the seas and come

To the holy city of Byzantium [NEW ZEALAND’S SOUTH ISLAND]

Insp. Sailing to Byzantium, W.B. Yeats.

Here’s what I captured.

Lovely girls.