ear

An operation on the stone,
A monstrous occasion in the past,
tied on a table, not to a mast.
Sam Pepys in person-, not alone.

His pains horrendous, crying loud,
No anaesthetics, just a knife,
The Surgeon smiles:" A few alive!"
His voice grows weak, it knocks him out.

Sam Pepys is lifted without stitching,
Vasectomy curses the feverridden,
A child for him, for her's forbidden.
One month's recovery, trembling, itching.

On January first his "Diary" started,
He felt he was chosen to do the deed,
He knew he needed a different seed,
His hopes for offspring had long departed.

Six volumes were written in shorthand for years,
Calligraphy, spaced out and longhand for names,
The people encountered, the places in frames,
Which told of domestic joys, sorrow and cheers.