Beneath the Whitened Skin

I'm filled with longing, sadness, and remorse,
Remembering the reading that we did,
Me and my daughter, when she was a kid,
Recalling how I used to end up hoarse
Declaiming hollowly in Ancient Norse,
Sagas of how the northern hominid
Became more civilized, but kept it hid
Beneath the whitened skin, deep at the source.

I'm sorry we tried no Icelandic tales,
Those eddas built on glaciers tall as spires
On cold volcanic plains, pitted by fires.
We should have met with Aztec ghosts, spread sails
With sea sprites, playing unseen by the whales,
And spoken softly of Coptic vampires.