Slow Smoke/Chant for the Moon-of-Flowers
CHANT FOR THE MOON-OF-FLOWERS
On the sacred flame, O Mighty Mystery,I fling my handful of good red-willow bark;Like willow smoke that floats upon the dusk,My prayer goes winding up the sky to you:
In the Moon-of-Strawberries-and-RaspberriesStain the green world, O Maker-of-all-good-things,With a bursting yield of berries; let them hangPlenty upon the bush, and heavy with blood.Let the trout and whitefish walk into my netsThick as the stars that swim across the sky;And may the big-knives offer plenty silverFor every catch of fish; ho! let the priceOf fat young pike and trout be seven coppersNo longer—eight is good, and nine is better. Not for myself I ask all this, But for my little boy, Red-Owl, For he is good.
In the Moon-of-Blueberries ask our mother earthTo let the sap go up her stalks of cornIn sparkling currents; make the huckleberriesSo plentiful that when we shake the twigsAbove the mó-kuk, the sagging fruit will patterDown on the birchbark bucket-round blue rain;Make the wild hay deep among the meadows,More soft and deep than winter-fur of beaver,So thick the northwind cannot part the grasses. Not for myself I ask these presents, But for my daughter, Little-Bee, For she is good.In the Moon-of-Changing-Color-of-the-LeavesRipen the wild-rice growing in the marshes,Until the yellow grains are full of milk,Ripe for the world, like heavy-breasted women;In the wet mush-kéegs, make cranberries plentiful,Thick as the dots that mark the spotted trout;And may the goose-plums on the tree be many,So full of clear red honey that they burstTheir skins and spatter sweet upon the earth. Not for myself I ask these gifts, But for my woman, Yellow-Wing, For she is good.
Ho! Mystery, I fling upon the fireMy handful of willow bark to make you glad;Open your hands and toss me many presentsShowering on the earth like falling leaves.