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 as you lived and loved, I wonder if you knew That someday I would find this spot, and come to visit you.