Who Is This Woman

Who is this woman with her hair of grey?
And what was she like back in her day?
Did she love to sing, cook or sew?
There's no one to ask,
So we'll never know.
What were her dreams?
Did they come true?
Someone, somewhere at one time knew
She was somebody's mother
and somebody's wife,
But no one bothered to document her life.
Photos bridge the distance between then and now ...
if we take the time to record:  who what when and how.

ARE YOU REALLY YOU?

My Grandma says
I've Daddy's nose.
Before I came
He'd two I s'pose?
She always adds,
"And what is more,
You've Mother's eyes" -
Did she have four?
They say I've got
My mouth and chin
From Grandma's husband:
Benjamin!
He died before
I came, you see -
And must have willed
Them both to me!
I understand
About my hair,
For Daddy's head
Is kind of bare.
But what I'd like
To really know -
What puzzles me
And tries me so . . .
Is - Am I just
Some odds and ends,
Parts of my relatives
And friends?
Or do you think
That it can be
There's something left
That's really ME?

STRANGERS IN THE BOX

      Come, look with me inside this drawer
    In this box I've often seen,
           The pictures black and white;
     Faces proud, still, serene.

      I wish I knew the people,
         These strangers in the box.
                 Their names and all their memories
        Are lost among my socks.

                 I wonder what their lives were like?
                 How did they spend their days?
                 What about their special times?
                 I'll never know their ways.

                 If only someone had taken the time,
                 To tell who, what, or where...
                 These faces of my heritage
                 Would come to life again.

                 Could this be the fate
                 Of the pictures we take today?
                 The faces and the memories,
                 Someday to be passed away.

                 Make time to save your pictures,
                 Seize the opportunity when it knocks;
                 Or someday you and yours could be
                 The Strangers in the Box!

THE FAMILY TREE

Our family tree is tall and wide,
We know not yet its measures
Some have searched and probed for years
To seek out all its treasures.
Miles traveled here and there.
Frustration and discouragement
Brought us often to despair!

But we kept right on going
Oft' times down a dead-end street.
Detours were not uncommon,
At times the road was rough and steep.
However, if you have never tried
A project such as this,
You can't imagine all the fun
and joy that you have missed!

Through our work we've met some folks
We'd have never known were kin.
Also, once more have met other folks
Whom we hadn't seen "since when".
And now and then a lead would come
That brought forth fruit, and so. . .
With new found hope and vigor
We'd again be on the go!

Here a name and there a date,
Then slowly, bit by bit,
Our tree began to take on form
With each new piece that fit.
So here, dear folks, though not complete,
Is our family tree to treasure.
Now thanks to all of you who helped---
It has truly been a pleasure.

OUR HERITAGE BOOK

The special book upon the shelf,
Was made with many hands.
Our ancestors who posed back then,
All came from different lands.

Their pictures were all tucked away,
And rarely did we see,
The importance of these treasures-
The start of you and me.

The history of our families,
Now here in black and white.
Preserved with special care and time,
Each page is done just right.

When time permits, we take it down,
And think of days long past.
Our hopes, our dreams, our heritage,
All safe and made to last.

THE FAMILY TREE
 

There's a tree that grows within my house,
a tree with many lives;
It holds within it's great branches
a tale that makes it thrive.

Among it's leaves are many faces
of those from whom I came;
It's bark is the strength of family
it's roots became my name.

This tree is very precious
it has lived untold years;
It will live on in life and memory,
and bring both joy and tears.

My family tree is a treasure
that I'll pass on to mine;
They'll nurture it and make it grow
until the end of time.

MOMENTS TO REMEMBER

Memories are heartbeats
Sounding through the years
Echoes never fading
Of our smiles and our tears.
Moments that are captured
Sometimes unaware
Pictured in an album
Or a lock of hair.

Images that linger
Deep within the mind
Bit of verse we cherished
Once upon a time.
Through the musty hallways
Of the days we knew
Ever comes the vision
Beautiful and true.

Memories are roses
Blooming evermore
Full of fragrant sweetness
Never known before.
Life must have a meaning
Goals for which to strive
Memories are lights that burn
To keep the heart alive.

THE OLD FAMILY ALBUM

The old family album
Once was prominently displayed
With its cover of red velvet
Trimmed in gleaming silken braid.

Every parlor had a table
Filled with shellls and a paperweight,
And the album of your ancestors
Anchored like a ship of state.

There were old tintypes of Grandma,
Aunts and uncles and cousins too...
And Grandpa with his cane and derby,
Fancy vest and button shoes.

Yes, the old family album
Once held its rightful place
In an old-fashioned parlor
Amid souvenirs and lace.

So if you're tired of travel
And your world seems closing in...
Bring out the family album
With the tintypes of your kin.

OLD THINGS ARE MORE BEAUTIFUL

Old things are more beautiful
than many things brand new
Because they bring fond memories
of things we used to do.

Old photographs in albums,
love letters tied with lace
Recapture those old feelings
that new ones can't replace.

Baby shoes, a teddy bear,
a ring that grandma wore,
Are treasures waiting there behind
a door marked "Nevermore".

Old things are more beautiful,
more precious day by day.
Because they are the flowers
we planted yesterday.

HEIRLOOMS

Up in the attic
Down on my knees
Lifetimes of boxes
Timeless to me
Letters and photgraphs
Yellowed with years
Some bringing laughter
Some bringing tears

Time never changes
The memories, the faces
Of loved ones, who bring to me
All that I come from
And all that I live for
And all that I'm going to be
My precious family
Is more than an heirloom
To me.

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