This winter we'll have summer.
Unkind cold will fall away
Beneath us
As we nap, high above the Tropic of Cancer.
We shall have Hula--
We shall dance atop the Kiluea Crater,
Its steam rising away from the Bay dooming Capt. Cook.
His hands were all the natives left-- tossed by sailers
To the Ocean.
We'll play in Hot Lava Land
Along the black sand strand--
Volcano beach;
and sip maitais from Honolulu,
Feast on Luau pig.
We'll stroll Waikiki
And shed a tear for Kamehameha.
This World, my beloved friends, is Buddha blessed,
Our Turtle Bay, Our Kalani (our heaven), Our Big Dipper,
Our Dole Pineapple.
