I am no longer a Roman,
Though my nose would differ.
I'm not Viking,
But my descendants have blonde and red hair.
I am a beneficiary of the dark ages,
The scriptoriums and monasteries
That brought the Greeks and Romans to life.
I am not Gael, though my eyes smile
When I hear the harp and pipes.
Neither am I Saxon nor Norman,
Victorious or defeated.
I, we, have metamorphized,
Casted of the moulted casement,
Spread dry wings and lifted,
Carried on fresh winds
To new worlds
To read, write, fish and hunt,
And I have gathered
My lineage,
Framed it in genetics on my wall,
To point at in fond remembrance
Of what I once was.