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.