But the sea lies calm at Hono-lua
And the woman can fish along shore,
Pounding her shell-fish, rubbing her moss—
This maiméd girl Kalu-é-a,
The girl that is dead.
As the wild thing ran from the dash of an incoming wave, by some chance the gourd that held her fish slipped from her and the retreating water carried it beyond her reach, a loss that she lightly touched in her song:
Ha’a ka lau o ka i’a;
Ha’a ka lima i ke po’i;
Ha’a ke olohe[6] i ke awakea:
Kina’i aku la i ke kai, la.