This was sent to me by a distant relative...I thought you might enjoy it....the author is unknown as far as I know. Marqel Breedlove > Friends, > > I just received this poem from a dear friend and distant relative > and am impelled to share it with you. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. > Perhaps someone out there knows the vintage and author. > > It was the first day of census, and all through the land > each 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 her of 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. > -- > Ken Boonie > Coordinator > USGenWeb Project