Yellow Brick Road
Yellow Brick Road by Witi Ihimaera
Follow the yellow brick road, Follow, follow, follow follow, Follow the yellow brick road ...
We're almost there! Almost at Wellington, the Emerald City! Me and Dad and Mum and Roha, we been travelling for two days now in our car which Dad bought from Mr Wallace last week. No dents and honk honk goes the horn. Dad, he said I could have a drive of it myself when we left Waituhi but then it conked out on the Whareratas and that made him change his mind. - I told you we wouldn't get to Wellington in this, Mum said to him while he was fixing it up. - We'll get there. - But I want to get there in one piece! Mum answered. - Throw some of your junk out then, Dad told her. Our car sure is loaded down all right. Mum's stuff is in the boot, some belongings are tied under the canvas on the roof and there's even some squeezed in here with us. Boy. But you won't conk out now, ay car? There's just one hill to go and we'll be there. So up we go, up the hill, slowly but surely. And who cares if cars bank up behind us! They can beep all they like. We got as much right to be on this road as they got. Road, road, yellow brick road, yellow with the headlights sweeping across it. Just like in that book Miss Wright, my teacher, gave me before we left Waituhi. A neat book. About the straw man, the tin man, the cowardly lion and the Emerald City and ... we're almost there! I bounce up and down on the seat. I can't wait to see all the sparkling green towers glittering in the dark ahead of us. - Matiu, you just sit still! Mum growls. What's gotten into you, ay? - Sorry, Mum. Poor Mum. She's very tired and still unhappy about leaving Waituhi, our whanau, our family. Her eyes are still red with the crying when all the people had waved goodbye to us like little flags fluttering far away. At least she hasn't cried as often as Roha has for Hone
Follow the yellow brick road, Follow, follow, follow follow, Follow the yellow brick road ...
We're almost there! Almost at Wellington, the Emerald City! Me and Dad and Mum and Roha, we been travelling for two days now in our car which Dad bought from Mr Wallace last week. No dents and honk honk goes the horn. Dad, he said I could have a drive of it myself when we left Waituhi but then it conked out on the Whareratas and that made him change his mind. - I told you we wouldn't get to Wellington in this, Mum said to him while he was fixing it up. - We'll get there. - But I want to get there in one piece! Mum answered. - Throw some of your junk out then, Dad told her. Our car sure is loaded down all right. Mum's stuff is in the boot, some belongings are tied under the canvas on the roof and there's even some squeezed in here with us. Boy. But you won't conk out now, ay car? There's just one hill to go and we'll be there. So up we go, up the hill, slowly but surely. And who cares if cars bank up behind us! They can beep all they like. We got as much right to be on this road as they got. Road, road, yellow brick road, yellow with the headlights sweeping across it. Just like in that book Miss Wright, my teacher, gave me before we left Waituhi. A neat book. About the straw man, the tin man, the cowardly lion and the Emerald City and ... we're almost there! I bounce up and down on the seat. I can't wait to see all the sparkling green towers glittering in the dark ahead of us. - Matiu, you just sit still! Mum growls. What's gotten into you, ay? - Sorry, Mum. Poor Mum. She's very tired and still unhappy about leaving Waituhi, our whanau, our family. Her eyes are still red with the crying when all the people had waved goodbye to us like little flags fluttering far away. At least she hasn't cried as often as Roha has for Hone