The sparks of protest fly as hammer pounds
To make a stubborn ingot sharper steel.
In pummeling, perfection will reveal
Its shifting shape with banging clanging sounds.
 
This repetition lasts for several rounds;
As smithy molds, the metal does appeal
For mercy from relentless hammer’s zeal;
The artisan, in answer, only frowns.
 
When flames are duly doused and metal cools,
The finished product’s polish is applied
And, only then, the maker will decide
If labor’s love was worthy of his tools.
Its quality has thus identified
The difference in artisans and fools.

I held you in my heart before I knew
Those dimpled cheeks and beaming impish grin.
Once quite the helpless creature, then you grew
Into the little man you are. And when
You speak with a maturity unearned,
Intelligence beyond your fledgling years,
Amazing me each day with what you’ve learned,
Your childhood much too quickly disappears.

Soon time will take this little boy from me—
Replace this child I love now with a man.
Whatever you decide you want to be,
I hope that you will always understand:

I held you in my heart when you were small,
And time won’t change my love for you at all.