The young ones look at we dinosaursand say what can you teach me,though the tone changes with their suretythat they already are a better griot.Perhaps they are, and are welcometo tell what has not yet been said.
I have stood in story longerthan the young ones have been alivesince the days of sleeping bagson the opera house floor, andthe very forging of the tribein the departing great spiral.
We are the old onesWe are the new ones,arm in arm, we saw that wewere not alone thoughsoon to be scatteredto the four directions.
I have crawled the long road,the lean years, the fatted,the seven years of hosting the wickedand saintly as well,to learn how to tell the story itself,plain and present.
I who once drank Scotch till goneor wooed the muse till first lighthave given that up in favor ofsimply blessing everyone thatwe might Prosper and live long enough to bless those who follow.