Larry's Blog

ANCESTORS

In my blood I am fisherman
in salt air exulting, quickening
in firm fresh smells
of scales, the prize remembering

In my blood I am fisherman
in salt air exulting, quickening
in firm fresh smells
of scales, the prize remembering

In my blood, wind-rough, bearded
I go. In my work-encrusted hand
the day’s sweat is plain-spoken
the dust of the field is not unclean

In my blood I am a shepherd
to a hungry flock, and tread
the uncut ways, spurning roads
with anxious eyes for pasturage

In my blood, fingers till
for pure delight sun-seasoned soil
nostrils dream a cornucopia -
brown bounty to an ancient brood

In my blood, with roughened hands
the quarried stone is placed with pride
on high towers where bells ring
in unknown countrysides