Joyce, thank you so very much for sharing that delightful poem. Doris ----- Original Message ----- From: <Joyce2814@aol.com> To: <NJMONMOU-L@rootsweb.com> Sent: Friday, March 24, 2000 10:41 PM Subject: [NJMONMOU] Fwd: The Census Taker > > --part1_b5.1a9d6ac.260d8f7d_boundary > Content-Type: text/plain; charset="US-ASCII" > Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit > > In a message dated 3/24/00 7:21:55 PM Eastern Standard Time, Joyce2814 writes: > > > received this through another list and with all the talk of the census > this > > really struck home for me. > > > > CENSUS TAKER > > > > 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 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 > > > > Joyce at the Jersey shore > > > --part1_b5.1a9d6ac.260d8f7d_boundary > Content-Type: message/rfc822 > Content-Disposition: inline > > Return-path: Joyce2814@aol.com > From: Joyce2814@aol.com > Full-name: Joyce2814 > Message-ID: <5b.3927f7d.260d60a3@aol.com> > Date: Fri, 24 Mar 2000 19:21:55 EST > Subject: The Census Taker > To: NJMONMOU-L@rootsweb.com > MIME-Version: 1.0 > Content-Type: text/plain; charset="US-ASCII" > Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit > X-Mailer: AOL 5.0 for Windows sub 68 > > I received this through another list and with all the talk of the census this > really struck home for me. > > CENSUS TAKER > > 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 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 > > Joyce at the Jersey shore > > --part1_b5.1a9d6ac.260d8f7d_boundary-- >