The freshet makes home for the water-fowl,
Flooding the thickets at Kehau,
The wide-spread waters of Kula-manu.
O Pele, fold back the curtains of heaven;
Thou Woman, consumer of Puna woods,
Swift thy foray in Hopoe’s fields:
The land of contending rains is wiped out,
And the lands that border Keäau.
Up springs the steam from her caldron,
A white cloudy mountain of smoke: