Till when the windy mountain ridge
Buds with the rosy petals of dawn.
Here stand I to wait her relenting:
I see naught but desolate Puna
And the quivering plain of Apua:
All about is flame—the rock-plain rent;
The coco-palms that tufted the plain
Are gone, all gone, clean down to Ka-poho.
On rushes the dragon with flaming mouth,
Eating its way to Oma’o-lala.