I witness the sentient waters
As they try to eschew the riverbank.
The elves that spring out, back and forth
Were the real salmon that are pitching the waterfall summit-
Guiding the current that playfully twists and bends
To make a curtesie of the water spirit.

The Wind, so angered by their defiance
Hurls a gust to correct the abnormality.
‘Twas her firm command that demands
Order in the river’s coyness and song –
Blowing with such force it pushed them
Back to where they’re supposed to belong.

“Rev up, my fellow elven spirits,
your time is nigh!” called the Mother,
Maternal to all the elvish imps.
Do not catch a breath, do not stagger in adversity!
Your time to come is nigh!” she whistled.
Her voluminous arms swept the elves right into the air,
Carrying them, rapt and far and high,
Like little dancing cradles her arms cheerfully sweep,
Each push got them higher to the deep blue sky.
The elven spirits cheer and wiggle, their joy was bright –
As they celebrate profusely as their freedom
Was lit well in the night!