The blood that
Flows through me Comes of ancient
stock Race of mendicants
endlessly on the move
Ascetic, saturnine
slow to trust
Quick to betray
Dust of other lands
On their feet
scholars among them
But indifferent householders
My ancestor’s flowing beard
Homage to the sun
All that is gone now
Wanderlust dissipated
By fenced homes, office desks
I warm my hands
Over the slow burning embers.