Each time I speak, every utterance, albeit nearly imperceptibly,
the voices of my ancestors equally sound on my tongue,
treading my thoughtful lineage out, welling from deep within,
to issue, almost silently, from my lips.

Although you may not hear a single one, they are all individually there,
legions carried in my genes, cascading opinions through millennia borne,
each participating in the wellspring of every word,
each likewise shaped by the wisdom or foolishness of their predecessors.

These, my shaping relatives passing on all shades
of everything I pronounce,
every nuance or lack thereof,
never rest in their expression of my mind.

And in my words their choired meanings
all come down to one idea they all impart the same,
which is, the farther back from history they speak,
the closer they come to speaking from our common tongue.

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