I thought my lehuas were tabu.
The birds of fire are eating them up.
They are picking my lehuas
Until they are gone.”
Then from that far-off island of Kauai she looked over her burning forest toward the sea and again chanted:
“O my friend of the steep ridges above Keaau,
My friend who made garlands
Of the lehua blossoms of Kaliu,
Hopoe is driven away to the sea—
The sea of Lanahiku.”