Invader I am Not

I wish I knew,
all your Gods,
the way you seem, 
to know mine,
You think you are,
the original,
and that poor me,
the invader.

You praise to hilt,
your local liquor,
and mock and blast,
my delicate wine,
I wish I knew,
what pleasure you get,
by labeling me,
an invader.

Your scorching sun,
and sultry heat,
has a beauty,
of it's own.
You natives may,
be burnt and dark,
with gleaming teeth,
and terrible speech.
While yours is sea,
mine is hills,
but then I ask,
so what of it?

My blood might be,
bluer than Rhine,
my lineage perhaps,
centuries old.
Yet again I ask,
so what of it?
yet again I ask,
so what of it?