The child was born unto a silversmith,
born son and grandson both of silversmiths
in the small room behind the dusty shop.
The old man stopped his pounding on his bench,
his son turned down the fiercely blasting fire
when the child was born. But when he breathed, cried
and howled, they worked again, as they had done
all morning - and as they had done
for years before, the old man and his son:
silver sculptors, bracelet makers, fashioners
of all small articles from gleaming blocks.
Now they were glad; not for two hundred years
had the house lacked a son, and once again
it was not disappointed.
Manuscripts: Vol. 9
, Article 5.
Available at: https://digitalcommons.butler.edu/manuscripts/vol9/iss4/5