We are reminded by the white facade
That hangs on the edge of the caldera
Of the nature of the volcano god
Whose might destroyed an earlier era.
But now we climb up to the highest peak
To nestle within our homes among the ash.
The color of our walls remind the meek
That we would lose in any future clash.
World wearied travelers come to our ring
To marvel at the beauty of our town,
But they don’t understand how much we cling
To our modesty that could be blown down.
Our survival lies in tectonic fate,
Hoping the fickle god won’t get irrate.