Poems/Verses
DEAR ANCESTOR
Your Tombstone stamds amongst the rest; Neglected and
alone,
The name and date are chiseled out on polished marble
stone.
It reaches out to all who care It is too late to mourn.
You did not know that I exist, You died and I was born.
Yet each of us are cells of you in flesh, and blood in
bone.
Our blood contracts and beats a pulse entirely not our
own.
Dear Ancestor, the place you filled one hundred years ago
spreads out among the ones you left who would have loved
you so.
I wonder if you lived and loved, I wonder if you knew
That someday I would find this spot, and come to visit
you.
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
THE CENSUS TAKER
It was the first day of the census, and all through the
land;
The pollster was ready ... a black book in his hand.
He mounted his horse for the long dusty ride;
His book and some quills were tucked close by his side.
A long winding ride down a road barely there;
Toward the smell of fresh bread wafting, up through the
air.
The woman was tired, with lines on her face;
And wisps of brown hair she tucked back in place.
She gave him some water ... as they sat at the table;
And she answered his questions ... the best she was able.
He asked of her children ... Yes, she had quite a few;
The oldest was twenty, the youngest not two.
She held up a toddler with cheeks round and red;
His sister, she whispered, was napping in bed.
She noted each person who lived there with pride;
And she felt the faint stirrings of the wee one inside.
He noted the sex, the color, the age...
The marks from the quill soon filled up the page.
At the number of children, she nodded her head;
And saw her lips quiver for the three that were dead.
The places of birth she “never forgot”;
Was it Kansas? or Utah? or Oregon ... or not?
They came from Scotland, of that she was clear;
But she wasn`t quite sure just how long they`d been here.
They spoke of employment, of schooling and such;
They could read some, and write some .. though not very
much.
When the questions were answered, his job there was done;
So he mounted his horse and he rode towards the sun.
We can almost imagine his voice loud and clear;
“May God bless you all for another ten years.”
Now picture a time warp ... its` now you and me;
As we search for the people on our family tree.
We squint at the census and scroll down so slow;
As we search for that entry from long, long ago.
Could they only imagine on that long day ago;
That the entries they made would affect us this way?
And if they knew, would they wonder at the yearning we
feel;
And the searching that makes them so increasingly real.
We can hear if we listen the words they impart;
Through their blood in our veins and their voice in our
heart.
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
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