I received this from Nancy S. Hatcher, who forwarded it to me from SENIOR-NEWBIE-L, where it was posted by another user. I thought the rest of you might enjoy it. I thought it was very nice. SgtGeorge Listowner > From: Lillyj57@aol.com > To: SENIOR-NEWBIE-L@rootsweb.com > Subject: [SENIOR-NEWBIE] (no subject) > Date: Tue, 5 Dec 2000 11:29:22 EST > >Voices In My Heart > >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 books and his quills were tucked close by his side. > >A long dusty 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 he saw her lips quiver for the ones that were dead. > >The places of birth she "never forgot"... >Was it Carolina, or Tennessee, or Georgia or not? > >They came from Scotland, on 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...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 affect 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. > >Courtesy of the author Darlene Stevens