Deem’st it a crime to snuggle close in travel?
That we gathered flowers in the woods?
That we strung them and plaited wreaths?
That we hung them about our necks?—
Red blossoms that sting us like fire—
A fire that burns with a devilish flame,
Till the blistered skin hangs in rags:
And this—is the work of the God!
The faithless Woman! Puna sacked!
The Park of Lehua all turned to rock!