The speaker makes a small figure of a woman out of sticks, then decides not to keep her and sends her off to live among the cranes in the fields. It reads like a fable or a half-spell, which fits the title's play on "craft." Having given her up, he still nudges her toward happiness, imagining her content with the odd, muddy company of the birds. He praises them as "ingenious treasurers / of time and folly," and suggests that where a person is free, there is "great plenty."
But the ending admits what the opening tried to hide: "I want her still." The generosity turns tender and a little sad. He brings her pure water and carves her a bed of thin ice, a gift that is beautiful but fragile, and one that will not last. The mood is gentle, wistful, and quietly self-aware. Letting go is the right thing to do, the poem suggests, but it doesn't stop the longing.