I have a name.
It came to me with my birth.
Everyone used it to call me.
It derives from another name,
   but that's not acknowledged.
It has no history for me to know.
It tells me nothing of myself.

I have another name.
It came to me with my birth.
No one used it to call me.
It derives from other names,
   one seen then, one seen now.
It has a history that I know.
It tells me fragments of myself.

I have another name.
It came to me with marriage.
All use it now to call me.
It comes from another's name,
   as one might well expect.
It has a history that I don't know.
It tells me shadows of myself.

I have another name.
It came to me by choice.
Some may use it now to call me.
It grew from old and new names
   suggested by another.
It has a history I love dearly.
It tries to tell me of myself.

I have a hidden name.
It came to me with my soul.
No one will use it to call me.
It may arise from other names
   that I cannot perceive.
It has a history I'll not discover.
This name, if I could know it, would tell me my whole self.