I have spent a little bit of time over the past 30+ years
visiting cemeteries - in and around Zion and Staunton, IL, Kenosha and
Sheboygan, WI, Bismarck, ND, Boston, MA, Toronto, Canada, England, Scotland,
wherever we might have some ancestor buried. The lady in the office in Kenosha
even knows me by sight now. Someone from England sent me this poem about
tombstones that I thought was pretty good.
JHD
Thoughts at the Cemetery
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.
I like this poem! It's amazing to think that part about the cells-- our DNA is really pieces of all those people that you're seeking out.
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