To Alexander -

This is a poem I wrote nearly right after I thought of the subject. It is to my first nephew; a creature that has only experienced this life for four weeks now. He abides with his parents on the opposite side of the country so I only know him through pictures. He knows not me, nor right now does he care to know. I have yet to well up any sentiment towards this kid, but perhaps I can start eighteen years from now and buy him his first cigar. Anyway, here goes:

You are the prime of the McEvan Clan,
Since a third generation was our demand.
Though the Wilsons are a pugnacious lot,
We pray you'll be grac'd; your sins forgot.
I know you so little, what is to be said,
But generic blessings that you will be fed.
Likely, I'll see you on occasions rare,
For a couple years you'll do nothing but stare.
Know thyself, and as well know thy name,
Know the man from whence it has fame.
Understand this: to be great is not far;
Live a pure life and then go to war.

By Evan Gunn Wilson