The column of rock moves ever on;
Lehuas and palms melt away,
As the fire sweeps down to the sea.
For Puna’s below and Pele above,
And Puna’s mountain is ever aflame.
Oh Puna, land close to my heart!
Land ever fore-front to the storm!
I weep for thy sorrowful plight!
“Cowed, and by a boy!” said Pele as her servants, with shame in their faces, slunk away from their unfinished task. “This is no job for women,” she continued. “These girls can’t stand up before a man—not if he has a smooth face and a shapely leg.”