I found a sprig of wood,
Of barky birch, like Robin Hood
Enshrouded in a ghostly cape—
Bowy as a spring, and tender as the rain.
I bent it with my small sprout hands
And saw the white wood strain.

I found a length of yarn,
Blue as fire tips, right on
My mother’s ceder desk—
Longer than my arm, and dangling like a braid.
I wrapped it round my thumb,
Then took it off—the notch remained.

I found a herd of bison high
Upon a plain ‘neath endless sky.
I galloped on a barkback horse—
Bow in hand, and arrows flung,
My sprite spirit, from
My treetop catwalk sung.