The tribe continues to increase, the latest addition being a great-niece (bringing the tally of great-nephews and nieces to nine, by my calculations). The baby was born rather late, though not as late as the one addressed in Donald Justice's beautiful poem, To A Ten-Months' Child (this is the long version; often the first two triplets only are printed)...
Late arrival, no
One would think of blaming you
For hesitating so.
Who, setting his hand to knock
At a door so strange as this one,
Might not draw back?
Certainly, once admitted,
You will be made to feel
Like one of the invited.
Still, because you come
From so remote a kingdom,
You may feel out of place,
Tongue-tied and shy among
So many strangers, all
Babbling with a strange tongue.
Well, that’s no disgrace.
So might any person
So recently displaced,
Remembering the ocean,
So calm, so lately crossed.
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