Lullaby for the Hunter's Son

Close your eyes, My little Son
rest now calm
against my breast.
Winter is coming
and the great bear
goes back to her den
with her young.
The elk
will forage in the deep woods
where your father’s
arrow flies to find its mark.

Our people
will harvest what is left
of the corn and wild berries
the squash, the pumpkin
and the brown nuts
the trees bring forth.
Wakan Tanka, Great Spirit
watches over our people
this night
and all will be well.

Do not cry, my Son.
The fire will warm us
and you and I will sit
with the others as the smoke rises
and the soft drum begins its call.
Your father will speak this night
for it is the night of the Hunter’s Moon.
He will stand in the circle
and tell of his dreams.
He has seen the white buffalo
and the herds grazing on the plains
far north.
They will listen and I will be proud.

Soon you will grow strong
and leave my arms.
You will follow your father
and become a man.
I will not see you for many moons
when the hunt is long
but for tonight under these stars
you are mine
and my heart beats with mother’s love.
I will kiss your tiny hands
and stroke your raven hair.
I will blow my spirit through your heart
as yours has blown through mine
and you will know of love
that never dies.
for tonight, my little Son
. . . you are mine.

Joanne Cucinello 2007