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More Poetry


'TWAS the day before yesterday
and all through the branches,
NOT a name to be found, none of my ancestors.
THE Journals and Bibles were dusty and worn,
WHY should we care,
these kinfolk are gone.
THE pictures of children and family,
long ago dead,
ARE scattered, crinkled,
and crammed under beds.
DAD in his chair, and I with a book,
HAD just settled back to give the TV a look.
WHEN out on the street
there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to my feet to see what was the matter.
ON the way to the window
I tripped with a crash,
I tore open the curtains
and looked through the glass.
THE sun in the sky was nowhere in sight,
THE clouds were so gray,
it could have been night.
WHEN what to my wondering
eyes should appear,
THE Mailman with packages,
letters and cards of good cheer.
THE driver was grumbling
while sorting his letters,
I knew in a moment,
things had to get better.
THE size of one letter
stood out from them all,
A distant cousin was asking
about family, one and all.
THE names of Grandpa and Grandma,
Great Grandparents all
NEXT came my Father,
my Brother, and Uncle Paul.
FROM cousins and uncles
to aunts and nephews,
NIECES and in-laws, just to name a few.
SO thru the many journals and photos,
and stuff I possessed,
MY search for my ancestors
slowly progressed.
WHILE up the family tree I gradually climbed,
MY ancestors names, I was seeking to find.
UPON that tree I have carved many a name,
THE branches of which,
will never be the same.
THE tree is now filled with many I've found,
BUT in the search for others, now I am bound.
THE ancestors whose names,
I have written with love,
THE Lord has gathered
to take to His Father above.
WITH so many names yet
to be carved on that tree,
I have little time to waste on games and TV.
GATHERING names, photos,
histories and places,
REQUIRES a lot of love, patience,
and God's good graces.
SOME were Farmers, Soldiers & such,
Mothers & Fathers who struggled much.
SOME were Settlers, who traveled far,
SOME Adventurers, who followed the stars.
SOME were rich but most were poor,,
they came by ship, seeking more.
SOME died young, others old,
many their stories yet untold.
I cried when I thought
of those brothers and sisters,
FOR I am who I am, thanks to my ancestors.
MY family is but one branch on the Tree of Life,
A tree that grew strong through toil and strife.
ALONE, I'm just a bare twig or a stub,
TOGETHER we build a Family Tree of Love!

written by Linnie Vanderford Poyneer
(written late one night after a long day of research),
submitted by Marianne Green



There's been a change in Grandma;
we've noticed her of late,
She's always reading history
or jotting down some date.
She's tracking back the family;
we'll all have pedigrees.
Oh, Grandma's got a hobby;
she's climbing Family Trees.
Poor Grandpa does the cooking now,
or so he states,
   That worst of all, he has
to wash the cups and dinner plates. 
Grandma can't be bothered;
she's busy as a bee
Compiling genealogy
-- for the Family Tree.
She has no time to baby-sit;
the curtains are a fright,
No buttons left on Granddad's shirt,
the flowerbed's a sight.
She's given up her club work,
the serials on TV,
The only thing she does nowadays
is climb the Family Tree.
She goes down to the courthouse
and studies ancient lore,
We know more about our forebears
than we ever knew before.
The books are old and dusty;
they make poor Grandma sneeze,
A minor irritation when
you're climbing Family Trees.
The mail is all for Grandma,
it comes from near and far,
Last week she got the proof she needs
to join the DAR.
A worth while avocation,
to that we all agree,
A monumental project,
to climb the Family Tree.
Now some folks came from Scotland
and some from Galway Bay,
Some were French as pastry,
some German all the way.
Some went on west to stake their claim,
some stayed near by the sea.
Grandma hopes to find them all
as she climbs the Family Tree.
She wanders through the graveyard
in search of date or name,
The rich, the poor, the in-between,
all sleeping there the same.
She pauses now and then to rest,
fanned by a gentle breeze
That blows above the Fathers
of all our Family Trees.
There were pioneers and patriots
mixed in our kith and kin
Who blazed the paths of wilderness
and fought through thick and thin,
But none more staunch than Grandma,
whose eyes light up with glee
Each time she finds a missing branch
for the Family Tree.
Their skills were wide and varied,
from carpenter to cook
And one (Alas!) the record shows
was hopelessly a crook.
Blacksmith, weaver, farmer, judge,
some tutored for a fee,
Long lost in time, now all recorded
on the Family Tree.
To some it's just a hobby;
to Grandma it's much more,
She knows the joys and heartaches
of those who went before.
They loved, they lost, they laughed,
and they wept, and now lay forever still,
But they will not be forgotten
as long as Grandma climbs the family tree.

...Author Unknown