In an unbroken line
the heirs of Herakles
harvest their golden trees
and splice the fruitful vine.
Today I play my part.
Paring an apple graft,
I hone an ancient craft
half science and half art.
With an impartial knife
I notch and interlock
host wood and scion stock,
marrying them for life
just as I marry rhymes
and rhythms into lines,
borrowing my designs
from other minds and times.
But where would Virgil be
had Homer not retold
a tale already old
learned at his father's knee?
the heirs of Herakles
harvest their golden trees
and splice the fruitful vine.
Today I play my part.
Paring an apple graft,
I hone an ancient craft
half science and half art.
With an impartial knife
I notch and interlock
host wood and scion stock,
marrying them for life
just as I marry rhymes
and rhythms into lines,
borrowing my designs
from other minds and times.
But where would Virgil be
had Homer not retold
a tale already old
learned at his father's knee?