There's been a change in Grandma, we've noticed her of late. 
She always reading history or jotting down some date.
She's tracking back the family, we'll all have pedigrees.
Oh, Grandma's got a hobby - she's climbing Family Trees.

Poor Grandpa does the cooking, and now, or so he states,
"That worst of all," he has to "wash the cups and plates."
Grandma can't be bothered, she busy as a bee,
Compiling ge-ne-al-ogy---for the Family Tree.

She has no time to babysit, the curtains are a fright,
No buttons left on Grandpa's shirt, the flower bed's a sight.
She's given up her club work and the soaps on the TV,
The only thing she does now-a-days is climb the Family Tree.

She goes down to the courthouse and studies ancient lore,
We know more about our forebears than we ever knew before.
The books are old and dusty, they make poor Grandma sneeze,
A minor irritation when you're climbing Family Trees.

The mail is all for Grandma, it comes from near and far,
Last week she got the proof she needs to join the D.A.R.!
A monumental project everyone agrees,
All from climbing up those wreched Family Trees.

Now some folks came from Scotland, some from Galway Bay,
Some were French as pastry, some German all the way.
Some went West to stake their claims, some stayed by the sea.
Grandma hopes to find them all, as she climbs the Family Tree.

She wanders through the graveyard in search of date and name,
The rich, the poor, the in-between, all sleeping there the same.
She pauses now and then to rest, fanned by a gentle breeze,
That blows above the Fathers, of all our Family Trees.

There are pioneers and patriots, mixed in our kith and kin,
Who blazed the paths of wilderness and fought through thick and thin.
But none more staunch than Grandma, who eyes light up with glee,
Each time she finds a missing branch for the Family Tree.

Their skills were wide and varied, from carpenter to cook,
And one, alas, the records show, was hopelessly.....a crook.
Blacksmith, weaver, farmer, judge - some tutored for a fee.
Once lost in time, now all recorded on the Family Tree. 

To some it's just a hobby, to Grandma it's much more,
She learns the joys and heartaches of those that went before.
They loved, they lost, they laughed, they wept - and now, for you and me,
They live again in spirit, around the Family Tree.

At last she's nearly finished and we are each exposed,
Life will be the same again, (this we all supposed).
Grandma will cook and sew, serve cookies with our tea.
We'll all be fat, just as before, the wretched Family Tree.

Sad to relate, the preacher called, and visit'd for a spell.
We talked about the Gospel, and other things as well.
The heathen folk, the poor and then.......t'was fate, it had to be,
Somehow the conversation turned to Grandma's Family Tree.

He never knew his Grandpa, his mother's name was.....Clark?
He and Grandma talked and talked. Outside it grew quite dark.
We'd hoped our fears were groundless, but, like some disease,
Grandma's become an addict - she's hooked on Family Trees.

Our souls are filled with sorrow, our hearts sad with dismay.
Our ears could scarce believe the words we heard our Grandma say, 
"It sure is a lucky thing, that you have come today to me,
I know exactly how it's done. I'll climb your Family Tree." 
 
 
Author unknown