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’d 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 if you lived and loved,
I
wonder if you knew
That
someday I would find this spot,
and
come to visit you.
Author
Unknown