out calmly, tracing my tree,
To find if I could find the makings of me.
And all that I had was Great-grandfather's name,
not knowing his wife or from where he came.
I chased him across a long line of states,
And came up with pages and pages of dates.
When all put together, it made me forlorn,
Proved poor Great-grandpa had never been born.
One day I was sure the truth I had found,
Determined to turn this whole thing upside down.
I looked up the record of one Uncle John,
But then I found the old man to be younger than his son.
Then when my hopes were fast growing dim,
I came across records that must have been him.
The facts I collected made me quite sad,
Dear old Great grandfather was never a Dad.
I think someone is pulling my leg,
I am not at all sure I wasn't hatched from an egg.
After hundreds of dollars I've spent on my tree,
I can't help but wonder if I'm really me..
and she never did complain
Though I saw her shed a leaf or two;
when cold November's came.
How her arms spread wide and 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 metals,
hide my secrets in her knots.
From her seeds, I grew an orchard;
in her leaves I made a bed,
and when I thought to give up..
her trunk spoke, 'forge ahead!'.
I gaze now through her branches,
for past where eyes can see,
and every bough uncovered,
tells that much more of ME!
And I proudly bear the markings
of her awesome history.
Oh she started but a seedling...
and became my family tree.
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 checks 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 imagine his voice loud and clear;
"May God Bless you all for another ten years."
Now picture a time warp ... it's 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.
Tie A Yellow