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 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
He 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

Contributed by Robby Robinson