I went to the tree that was struck by lightning,
I went quickly, to my sighting.
I took as many limbs as I could,
Well, as much as any shaman should.
I carved, I crafted late into the night,
The storm raged, the thunder’s flight,
I ended as I placed upon her a little green hood,
Was my doll, made of elm-wood.
I chanted and I sang, over her little wooden bones,
I recited old incantations in low tones,
The dawn approached, and it was understood,
I might not give life to my doll of wood.
I fed her despite it all, with honey and milk,
I bade her sleep, on a bed of silk.
I did all that I could,
To bring to life my little doll of wood.
I fell asleep reading, before the moon was seen,
In my half-awake sleep, I saw her little hood of green.
She pattered around my house as much as she could,
With her fingerless hands, made of wood.
I awoke with quite a stir,
To find that she was not… Where I had left her.
She was resting next to me, my little doll of wood-
“Ah,” I said,with a smile fixing her green hood,
“You have found a place that is good.”