The Tale Of The Humble Smithy To Caliph Harum Al Ras-Hid Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

The Tale Of The Humble Smithy To Caliph Harum Al Ras-Hid



as he told his son

'Yes, for a lowly slave much danger lies
In any act that others find too bold
And certain death awaits the one who tries
To find the famous hidden caves of old.
Yet one had dreamt of secrets never told
And of gem the color of the skies.
Soon he escaped in stolen garments old
To journey safely in another's Guise.
Though never seen before the path he knew
And when within the cave the stone he spied
He watched as every artful image grew.
No fear he felt. He knew no dream had lied.
He took the gem. This was his only though,
'Without a means how is a vision caught? '

'So with this stone a perfect ring he made
With flawless ease as if it had been planned
And chance was there had trembling hands betrayed
His gift to grace the Sultan's mighty hand.
Wise Sultan made him smithy of his land.
But first an answer from the man he bade.
'Though this seems new, it bears an ancient brand.
How did it come to you, by theft or trade? '
'Lord, in a desert pool I saw it glow
And as I looked I dreamt a vision true
Of how your father lost it long ago.
I knew I must return this ring to you.'
So son, think not of glory, love, or grief.
An artist is a liar and a thief.'

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success