It’s oft said we inherit our traits
(Proven long ago with green peas),
Though some say we receive our fates
From the heritage of our trees.
“But which fates,” I find I must ask
“Are we truly meant to receive?”
“Will I drown my sorrows in a cask,”
“Or shall I live in quiet reprieve?
Will I live as Grandfather once had,
With my head held high in noble right?
But in the end, he was cruelly sad.
Will I succumb to his branch, his blight?
Or perhaps I will be my father’s son,
With a bright mind, and with quick wit..
But his patience always was easily run,
Has his stem, too, cracked and split?
With burning desire, with heartfelt ease,
I’ve dropped a match on my family tree;
Now I watch the flames caress and seize,
The ashes scatter, the shadows flee.
In conclusion, I’m free at long last:
I’ve paid my sordid tribute.
I’ve finally escaped the ashes of past,
Now I wait for my tree to take root.