1. Now I'm certain that livelihood has portions
When the cold took charge, the cupping surgeon

2. Stored his jars, fearing unemployment, in a satchel
Inside it his tools, countless and diverse

3. Until, when his council thinned with remaining seated
And construction and destruction cycled for them

4. He called to Susin, "Bring the instrument," though
I hadn't handled it for constant work this year

5. So he came to him with blades and a scraper
Of the healing irons, adept at the throat

6. Protected in scented handkerchiefs
Adorned with fine embroidery and symbols

7. Then at that he wraps a talkative, zealous brother
Whose cup and goblet go around among a group

8. And the face tasks him when it misses them
As if cooling the face were his occupation

9. Like the palm were severed on sight of them
For if sorrow or illness befell him, it would grieve

10. If a land wept for an incident in lament
Then the Levant would weep for his sake