She lies without motion, with upturned face,
The fire-places pillowed with ashes;
The bullets of rain are slapping the land,
Pitiless rain turmoiling Pai-kaka.
So, indeed.
2
In Puna was I, in Ku-ki’i, in Ha’e-ha’e,
I saw a wraith of lehua, a burning bush,
A fire-tree beneath the lava plate.
Magnificent Puna, fertile from rain,