The lava’s molten rhythm flows,

And down below our whole world slows;

As thoughts turn upwards to the heat,

We learn to measure our retreat.

 

The first sign is a rumbling sound

Which chills the spine and moves the ground.

The liquid rock spurts out and pours;

The mountain murmurs turn to roars.

 

With this inferno holding sway,

Inheritance is swept away;

Mementos of our hearth and place

Are decimated without trace.

 

And what is more the views nearby

Will vanish in the ash-baked sky,

And friendships forged in sun and rain

May never be put back again.