What I Am

My mind's a cauldron of forgotten books,
well worn ideas, and a few brand new.
Those, on occasion, warrant second looks.
I'm luckier than most: it's what I do.

I haven't worked a day since '86,
if loving what you do is how one counts,
and haven't emptied, yet, my bag of tricks,
the time has not arrived to make accounts.

Am I so vain, to use a classic form,
describing what I am to passers by?
Can structure provide meaning and inform,
explaining more than just the what, but why?

My children, and their children, but of course
For they are both my output, and my source.