>> The 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 >> >> >> > > >