I've been told some folks are born to this—
Wealth or talent, a latent wish of parents 
Who breathe their own dreams into liveliness
Without much thought or caring.
And some claim skill can be bought or light 
Shed by a prayer. And some will say they have no right—
That inheritance is, at best, unfair,
Yet wish that they were going there.

Through gender, era, a father’s pride, I lived
With contradictions passed along.
Now all expectations gone—what would I give 
To hear an echo of their song?
What difference now between these two—
who am I and who are you?