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In this modern world
Of medical advances
Testing ones blood to find
If a disease shows any chances
Of forming an attack
To shorten one's life
Can be found, doctors say
By permitting the brief strife
Of drawing forth the liquid
That flows within your veins
And thereby to determine
If future disaster reigns.
However, I hold the thought
If such testing is not a dud
How come they never mention
That poetry runs in my blood?
It's obvious to anyone
Privileged to peruse
Verses writ by family
To emphasize any news
Describing their feelings
On any given day
Whether expressing tears or joy
Their poetry found a way.
When the muse speaks
And your heart begins to throb
Surely the urge travels your veins
To produce laughter or a sob
So why have they not listed
That my blood carries such history
Having been inherited from poets
To me it remains a mystery
Grandmother and her daughters,
Her descendants far and wide
Many choose to share their gift
Though some their words they hide.
But I must believe it's there
Flowing from our hearts
Nourishing our poetry the same
As it courses to other parts
Have I missed the symbol
Some medical abbreviation there
That discloses our poetic blood
From heart through mind flows everywhere
Is it because it's an excellent part
Which will never cause any harm
But there it is traveling inside
And keeping me safe and warm.
©May 31, 2023 Mary E. Adair
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