Ancestors Circling

My great, great, great grandfather
Stands in the portrait in my hall,
Wearing a long frock coat, and a
Handlebar moustache. A Polish nobleman.

I think of him, and the thirty one other
Great, great, great grandparents. Those
Other thirty one invisible to me. But they
lived long enough, at least, to bear a child.

Which bore a child, which bore a child,
Which bore a child in turn; those two,
My parents, bearing me. Five generations
All that bearing, leading to me.

Sixty two people in the last two hundred years,
Before that hundreds, then thousands,
Back to the start of mankind. Each one
Surviving, passing on life.

And here I am. Mid-winter blues.
Wondering which of them sat by a fire,
And longed for longer days. Imagine;
All those ancestors, circling in the air.