HERITAGE

There was a MacLoud but each has a silver lininng,
what's your history - not without a degree of whining;
mine was from Normandy but 'here' was best for me
that we each have tenacity and own share of mystery.

We can go back to our roots and just select white suits,
convenient but unchangeable when it comes to boots;
we may wish to delete but not some who washed my feet,
can't have everything - just those that you wished to meet.

The old house looked the same as I stepped down off the train,
you wonder if you'd wish to endure all that old 'stuff' again;
perhaps not - remember not just laughter but all of the pain,
I bet you think this poem's about you because you're so vain.

Oh to be in England now that the spring had just been here,
whether you like it or not - we've all moved up another gear.