Once upon a time, high on a hill, There lived a kind woodcutter, strong and still. Chopping wood from dawn till night, He did his work with all his might.

One sunny day beside a glistening pond, He worked with glee, of the forest quite fond. But oh dear, with a big SPLASH and a dive, Into the water, his beloved axe took a drive.

The woodcutter sighed, "Oh, what shall I do?" My axe is now gone, like the morning dew." As tears filled his eyes, all sparkly with sorrow, Little did he know, he'd find joy by tomorrow!

All of a sudden, with a twinkle and gleam, Appeared the mountain spirit, like a dream! "Dear Woodcutter, why do you cry?" Asked the spirit with a curious eye.

"I dropped my axe, it slipped from my hold, Into the pond, so clear and cold." The spirit replied, "Dry your tears, don’t fret away, For I'll help you find it today!"

With a wave of her hand and a splashy swish, The spirit dived into the water with a wish. Soon she arose, holding a golden axe high, "Is this your axe? It shone like the sky."

"Oh no," said the woodcutter, with a shake of his head, "That is not my axe, though it shines bright like a bed of flowers instead." Honest and true, he couldn’t tell a lie, His heart was as pure as the blue, blue sky.

"Very well," the mountain spirit replied with grace, "Wait a moment; I'll search this place." Back she went, with a splash and dive, In search of the axe, she'd soon contrive.

Out she came with an axe of silver shine, "Is this yours, this tool so fine?" But the woodcutter, honest and kind, said, "This isn't mine either, of a different kind."

With a chuckle and twinkle in her eye, Once more, the spirit did comply. Down she went with a graceful glide, Returning with an axe, by her side.

It was his own, dull and plain. Yet, all the more, it was his own refrain. The woodcutter grinned, wide and thankful, Saying, "Oh spirit, I’m ever so grateful!"

The spirit smiled, "For your truth and grace, Here are all three, in their rightful place." And with a sparkly swirl, she vanished from sight, Leaving the woodcutter in awe of her mystical light.