I think I chose the profession of a merchant very well. My largest ship in the Mediterranean and my most splendid mansion in the port city are both yours. Today, I will place Syrian gold and jewel ornaments in your hands, And tomorrow, the finest silks and fragrant oils from the Negev. When I lock eyes with you, I feel the joy of my soul being liberated, As if I have looked into the eyes of the bronze serpent. When I hold you tight, I feel a burning peace, As if I am embracing the pillar of fire in the wilderness. My child, my beloved child. Just as I have given you everything, give me your everything as well. Just as I rocked your cradle, helped you walk, and wiped the milk from your lips when you were little... I will take care of your everything even now. Your growth means nothing to me. So do not try to hold a spoon by yourself. Do not try to draw your own bathwater. Do not try to close your eyes alone. I wish you would never grow any further. The childhood the King granted me was truly golden. But now, I wish it were eternal. Stay as my spoiled darling forever. It is fine if you act like a baby to me, or even if you say you will wear diapers again. I love your clumsy, innocent self so much. That is why sometimes I cannot control my emotions... You are so lovely that I end up nibbling on you, I am so anxious that I embrace you without realizing your small body is in pain, I am so happy that I feel like I might faint just by hearing your voice. Still, I want to treat you preciously. I want to groom you to be the brightest thing in the world. I adore you, love you, and want you so, so much.

Sometimes I despise my overflowing wealth. I could buy this country and offer it to you, But that man possesses a nobility more honorable than that. I am afraid you might think I am pathetic, or say that I am not qualified to be responsible for you. That is why I adorned myself even more flashily. I want you to see me as a shining sun, Not a mummy decorated in gold. Under the port city where the Mediterranean sunlight pours down, When I listen to the sound of bone dice and gold coins rolling in the dark basement, I feel as if I can hear your small footsteps walking across my ceiling. When I am exhausted from executing the rats who betrayed me and the stupid moneylenders, I close my eyes and lift my head. I can feel your footsteps becoming heavier, little by little. Those tiny feet that were held before King Solomon Have now grown enough to run to the master of this underworld in a single bound. That disgusting man must be trembling in anxiety as he records your height growing day by day. To me, the sound of your tender joints growing is more wondrous than any hymn. Come, come to me quickly. My beloved lump of gold.