Babook and the Dream Master

There was a Nightling named Babook,

a tiny little thing.

His job was melting fallen snow 

when Winter turns to Spring.

Thawsmiths, as they were aptly named,

woke with the setting sun,

clearing fields of snow and ice, 

until the job was done. 

Night after night it was the same, 

a very dreadful bore.

And it was often that Babook 

hoped and wished for more.

Babook had dreams of growing tall,

as giant as a tree,

so that he could paint the sky 

when day turns into eve.

“To be a painter,” Babook thought,

“Now that must be exciting!” 

Splashing colors ‘cross the sky,

an image most inviting. 

So Babook did what Nightlings do 

when they find themselves dejected.

He journeyed to the Dream Master,

a mystic most respected.

The Dream Master was highly sought,

desired for her talent,

for she could turn a vile rouge 

into a gent most gallant. 

She would put her patients fast asleep 

and wait for them to dream.

Then she would jump into their minds

and commandeer the theme.

Nightmares were changed to fantasies 

pleasant visions brought to life.

She made warriors of the meekest folk,

and created harmony from strife.  

Babook arrived, approached her door, 

he raised his hand to knock.

The door swung open, and there she stood

he couldn’t help but gawk.

Before him stood a gnarled wretch,

her expression something sour.

How could such a ghastly beast 

possess such awesome power? 

“I’m not what you expected”, she spoke,

her voice a grating pitch.

“You were hoping for a kindly dame

and instead, you’ve found a witch."  

Babook knew better than to judge 

based on outward form,

for even clear and bright blue skies 

can bring a mighty storm.

“I care not of your looks,” he spoke

“It’s your magic I desire.” 

She stared at him, with eyes ablaze, 

then motioned to the fire. 

“Come, lay by the hearthstone child”,

the fearsome spinster said.

Babook entered, crossed towards the mantle,

and saw a tiny bed. 

The bed, in fact, was just his size.

No more, no less, just right. 

Never had a bed before

been so perfect for his height. 

The Dream Master pulled up a chair

and set next to the cot.

She wrapped a cord around her waist

and tied it in a knot

“Tie this ‘round your middle”, she spoke, 

“Make sure the knot’s secured - ” 

“For if you don’t”, the mystic warned,

“Your safety is not ensured.” 

Babook did as he was told,

made a knot and pulled it tight.

And as he did the fire flared,

it filled the room with light. 

The Dream Master raised her withered hands 

and placed them on his brow.

“Close your eyes, and clear your mind,”

“We must begin right now.” 

“Wait!” ,Babook objected,

“I’ve not told you why I”m here!” 

“Oh please my child,” the sorceress laughed,

“You forget I am a seer.” 

“Now rest your head, and close your eyes -”

“Picture only what you fancy.” 

And so he drifted off to sleep 

as she began her slumbermancy. 

Babook dreamed of billowing clouds,

vibrant colors in every direction. 

He saw himself, with brush in hand

as he changed the sky’s complexion. 

Never in his life before

had he known so much fun, 

painting bright and vivid hues 

‘midst the glow of a setting sun.

Babook’s heart was filled with joy, 

almost more than he could take. 

And then he heard a distant voice: 

“Come child, it’s time to wake!” 

The voice grew louder in his ear 

and the dream began to fade. 

He felt a tug around his waist.

“Wake up” the speaker bade. 

“I cannot leave!” Babook objected, 

“I’m finally a painter!!” 

Despite his efforts to hold on tight, 

the image grew ever fainter. 

His eyes began to slowly open,

then he remembered where he was.

He sat up straight and looked around, 

his vision all a fuzz. 

The Dream Master sat near the cot 

just as she was before. 

“My job is done", she briskly said, 

“I trust there’s nothing more.” 

Babook was so excited.

He could not wait to stand. 

“I must be giant!”, the Nightling thought,

but then he saw his hand. 

“That’s odd!” he thought, “It looks no different,”

“Same size, same shape, no change!” 

How could this be? Did it not work? 

Why did he feel so strange? 

Babook looked in a nearby mirror 

His eyes filled up with tears.


“I’m just the same, no taller still -

same as I’ve been for years!” 

He felt anger, shame, and sadness

welling up inside.

How could he have been so foolish? 

“You’ve swindled me!”, he cried. 

“I thought you’d make me taller!”, he accused,

“So that I might paint the sky.” 

“But I am still the same old me.” 

“You’ve sold me on a lie!” 

“Foolish child”, the enchantress barked,

“You judge me prematurely.” 

“It takes time for the dream to set.” 

“You seek results too early.” 

“Now leave my sight and don’t return!”, 

The Dream Master commanded.

And so the Nightling hung his head,

and left there empty-handed.  

He journeyed back towards his home,

his spirits hanging low.

The other Nightlings would surely laugh

when he returned with naught to show.

Then part way through his homeward journey

Babook lay down to rest.

He settled near a quiet lake, 

exhausted from his quest. 

He fell asleep, feeling glum,

downcast, and brokenhearted. 

“What a waste”, he told himself,

so sure he’d been outsmarted.

He slept and slept, all through the day

'til the rising of the moon.

He woke and heard the familiar sound

of a cricket’s nightly tune

He sauntered to the water’s edge

to quench the thirst brought on by napping.

And as he walked he heard a noise: 

the sound of nearby flapping.

So near, in fact, Babook turned ‘round.

“Hey!” he yelped, “who’s there?” 

But all he saw was grass and trees

swaying in the crisp night air.

So Babook knelt to take a sip 

then jumped up in surprise. 

He stood there staring mouth agape 

he could not believe his eyes! 

Just beyond his little shoulders,

they were the color of midnight black,

tiny, shiny, fluttering wings

sprouting from his back.

The wings were dark in some places

and in others crystal clear.

Babook, struck by their awesome beauty,

let out a mighty cheer! 

“Hooray! Hooray!”, he shouted,

and looked up to the sky.

And then, as if he were born to do so, 

Babook began to fly. 

He soared high into the clear night sky,

above the tallest tree, 

wind rushing past him, clouds in his wake.  

He had never felt this free.

This was better than what he’d pictured. 

He needn’t height to reach the sky.

For it matters not how tiny you are

when you have wings to fly!

He flipped, he spun, he twirled about,

laughing as he flew.

Then suddenly he had a thought.

There was something he must do.

He headed toward The Dream Master,

an apology he owed her.

He flew with such a mighty speed 

he was nothing but a blur. 

When he arrived he found her waiting, 

sitting calmly on her stoop.

As he approached, his shame took over,

his wings began to droop. 

“I doubted you”, he tearfully spoke, 

“And accused you of doing me wrong.” 

He raised his head, “I’m sorry”, he said,

trying to sound strong. 

The Dream Master smiled gently,

he saw her demeanor soften.

"You are forgiven”, she winked at him,

“For it does happen often.” 

She placed her hand upon his shoulder, 

and a soothing warmth passed through him.

He looked up to see her staring back,

eyes sparkling like a gem. 

“Before you go”, the mystic spoke,

“Here is a lesson to take with you.” 

“It may look different than we thought - 

When our dreams come true!” 

And so she sent him on his way,

back from whence he came.

Knowing now what Babook knew,

he would never be the same.