The following poem was written several years ago, long before The Lad (I like that better than The Wee Bairn) was even a twinkle. At the time, I fancied myself quite the poet. This poem was written in an attempt to be "influenced" by a more famous poet (I'll let you guess who), but soon took on a life of its own. It's a reflection on the how each of us, as a descendant of our ancestors, both receives and passes on their lineage. It seemed appropriate to post it now in honor of the biurth of my son. The original is stored away in a box somewhere, so this is from memory. It may not be as polished as I had it. In any case, enjoy:
I dwell within the cirle of the existence of my ancestors
and am both their heir and their heirloom.
I am the recipient of their legacy,
and I am the legacy received.
And some day, I will bequeath this inheritance to my son,
even as I bequeath my son to the world.