One drop for the little blonde one who calls from the depths of my blood.
One drop for the Bruce’s kinsman whose gauntlet thrusts from the mud,
One drop for the Finnish warrrior seeking the land of the free,
One drop for the son of Glyndwr, whose war cry vibrates throughout me.
These bloods I hold dear in a chalice , guardedly kept deep within.
Clasped to my heart in a palace reserved for awakening kin.
©L. M. Roberts 2020
Image Blondel de Nesle
I started this poem last year and finished it the other week. Inspired by genealogy and DNA findings, I am a vessel for those who have gone before and contributed to me.