Genealogy Poems

Census Taker

The Tree

Your Name

Dear Ancestor

The Recording of  a  Cemetery

 

                     Census Taker

                     It was the first day of census, and all through the land;
                     The pollster was ready ... a black book in hand.
                     He mounted his horse for a 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 into 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 really not much.
                     When the questions were answered, his job there was done;
                     So he mounted his horse and he rode toward 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 ago day;
                    That the entries they made would effect us this way?

                    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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                      The Tree   
                      Life wasn't always easy ;but she never did complain.
                     Though I saw her shed a leaf or two; when cold November's came.
                      How her arms spread wide & welcomed, any weary nesting soul.
                     Vast numbers took their comfort there; in spring and winters' snow.
                     When August sun's beat down on me, I rested 'neath her shade,
                     And warmed myself in winter with the firewood she gave.
                     Played beneath the shelter of her strong and sturdy limbs,
                     Swung from her branches happily with all my childhood friends.
                     In her bark, I carve initials of those sweethearts long forgot,
                     from her branches, hang my medals, hide my secrets in her knots.
                     From her seeds, I grew an orchard; in her leaves I made a bed,
                     & when I thought to give up...her trunk spoke, "forge ahead!"
                     I gaze now through her branches, far past where eyes can see,
                     & every bough uncovered, tells that much more of ME!
                     & I proudly bear the markings of her awesome history,
                     Oh she started but a seedling...and became my family tree.

_                  vikimouse 1998

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Your Name 
You got it from your father,
it was all he had to give,
So it's yours to use and cherish,
for as long as you shall live,

If you lose the watch he gave you,
It can always be replaced.
But a black mark on your name, son,
Can never be erased.
It was clean the day you took it,
and a worthy name to bear,
When he got it from his father,
there was no dishonor there

So make sure you guard it wisely,
For when all is said and done,
You'll be glad the name is spotless,
When you give it to your son.
_Unknown

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Dear Ancestor
Your tombstone stands among the rest;
Neglected and alone,
The name and date are chiseled out
On polished marbled 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, in 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

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THE RECORDING OF A CEMETERY
BY THELMA GREENE REAGAN 

Today we walked where others walked
On a lonely, windswept hill;
Today we talked where other cried
For Loved Ones whose lives are stilled.

Today our hearts were touched
By graves of tiny babies;
Snatched from the arms of loving kin,
In the heartbreak of the ages.

Today we saw where the grandparents lay
In the last sleep of their time;
Lying under the trees and clouds -
Their beds kissed by the sun and wind.

Today we wondered about an unmarked spot;
Who lies beneath this hollowed ground?
Was it a babe, child, young or old?
No indication could be found.

Today we saw where Mom and Dad lay.
We had been here once before
On a day we'd all like to forget,
But will remember forever more.

Today we recorded for kith and kin
The graves of ancestors past;
To be preserved for generations hence,
A record we hope will last.

Cherish it, my friend; preserve it, my friend,
For stones sometimes crumble to dust
And generations of folks yet to come
Will be grateful for your trust.

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