KEY POINTS:
A former All Black who died on Wednesday aged 73 has left a moving legacy for supporters following the World Cup.
John Buxton, who played two test matches for the All Blacks - in 1955 against Australia and in 1956 against South Africa - left a poem he
wrote in the early 1990s describing the emotion he felt when he first wore the All Black jersey.
Mr Buxton, who played as a flanker, died after a long battle with Parkinson's disease.
His youngest daughter, Sarah O'Hagan, said that although her father suffered from the illness for much of his later years, his memories of being named an All Black were still vivid when he wrote the poem in the early 1990s.
"Mentally he started to struggle with the illness, but those All Black memories were etched into his brain and he put pen to paper," said Mrs O'Hagan.
She hoped the poem, which appears in the introduction to The Immortals: The Book of All Black Test Players, would inspire the All Blacks.
"We really hope it does, it means a lot to us. For any of us as a New Zealander this is probably the ultimate sporting achievement, and then when you think 'Gosh, that's my father,' it's incredible."
In his memoirs Mr Buxton said he was "incredulous" upon hearing his name read out on National Radio among the list of All Blacks to face the touring Australians in 1955.
"All the heartache and grind associated with my elevation now seemed to melt away - the ultimate trophy was mine," said Mr Buxton.
Asked later in life by his daughters if he would trade his fleeting stint as an All Black for the many years he spent fighting his illness, his answer was an emphatic no.
On what it means to be an All Black
by John Buxton
As the changing room door was opened
And I adjusted my eyes to the half light
I saw it!
Rolled into a neat bundle
The white hooped black socks along side.
I pulled on the socks, adjusted the tie in my shorts
And then, with the care this symbol deserved
I carefully rolled the lower rim half way
thus to ease my head through the collar, then
allowing my arms to slip through the sleeves.
I stood up, braced my chest;
Wondered if they had noted my apprehension.
The mirror on the far wall yearning,
But not until the end. No egos allowed.
God had certainly smiled on me
I quietly prayed that I should
not fail our country, this heritage.
but no matter what the outcome,
as soon as I ran onto the turf
I became an All Black forever and ever
and ever.
As the shadows lengthen, and now
sophisticated warriors take our place,
only ill remembered events sustain our
egos.
The pinnacle, being a black jersey
with silver fern, should only be
possible and acceptable for those
who by qualification pass through the gate.
Those who have
know.