Ancestors
They speak to us through wills,
And birth certificates, journals
And marriage licenses,
To tell us what they did and how they lived,
Of how they fought in wars and revolutions,
Or stayed at home and raised
Their crops of corn and children
As we search and find the documents
That tell of great events and small,
Our eyes of love clothe these words
On dry and dusty paper with living flesh.
On imagination’s stage they dart about
With the burning energy of youth,
Or limp along on tired legs
Of pioneers who near their journey’s end.
I knew you not, but now I know you.
Your blood is mine, your struggles gave me life.
Had you not been, I would not be.
And as I resurrect the past
Through microfilm, CD and book,
I only pray that some day one will say
Of me, I knew him not, but I am proud
To have his genes within, making me
A little bit like him.
2005 Robert E. Field
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