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Traut / Trout(t) Family |
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Genealogy Poetry
There's been a change in Grandma, we've noticed her of late She's 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 dinner plates. Grandma can't be bothered, she's busy as a bee Compiling genealogy for the family tree. She has no time to baby sit, the curtains are a sight, No buttons left on Grandpa's shirt and the flower bed's a sight! She's given up her club work and the serials on TV. The only thing she does nowadays 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 and 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 DAR. A worthwhile avocation, to that we all agree. A monumental project, to climb the family tree. Now some folks came from Scotland and some from Galway Bay. Some were French as pastry, some German all the way. Some went on west to stake their claim, some stayed nearby the sea. Grandma hopes to find them all as she climbs the family tree. She wanders through the graveyard in search of date or 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 our family tree. There were 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, whose eyes light up with glee Each time she finds a missing branch of the family tree. Their skills were wide and varied, from carpenter to cook. And one (alas!) the record shows was hopelessly a crook. Blacksmith, weaver, farmer, judge, some tutored for a fee, Long lost in time, now all recorded on the family tree. To some it's just a hobby, to Grandma it's much more. She knows the joys and heartaches of those who 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 and serve cookies with our tea. We'll all be fat, just as before that wretched family tree! Sad to relate, the preacher called and visited for a spell. We talked about the gospel and other things as well__ The heathen folk, the poor, and then 'twas fate it had to be! Somehow the conversation turned to Grandma and the family tree. We tried to change the subject. We talked of everything. But, then, in Grandma's voice, we heard that old familiar ring. She told him all about the past and soon 'twas plain to see The preacher, too, was nearly snared by Grandma and the 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 just like some disease, Grandma's become an addict - she's hooked on family trees! Our souls were filled with sorrow, our hearts sank with dismay, Our ears could scarcely believe the words we heard our Grandma say. "It sure is a lucky thing that you have come to me. I know EXACTLY how it's done....I'll climb your family tree!!
(Author Unknown) I started out calmly, tracing my tree, To see if I could find the makings of me. And all that I had was Great Grandfather's name, Not knowing his wife or from whence he came. I chased him across a long line of states, And came up with pages and pages of dates. When all put together, it made me forlorn, Poor old Great Grandpa had never been born. One day I was sure the truth I had found, Determined to turn this whole thing upside down. I looked up the record of one Uncle John, But then found the old man to be younger than his son. Then when my hopes were fast growing dim, I came across records that must have been him. The facts I collected made me quite sad, Dear Old Great Grandfather was never a Dad. It seems that someone is pulling my leg, I'm not at all sure I wasn't hatched from an egg. After hundreds of dollars I've spent on my tree, I can't help but wonder if I'm really me.
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. Author unknown.
They think that I should cook and clean, They simply do not understand Why waste the time we have on earth We have Priests, Rabbis, lawmen, soldiers, How can a person find this life A hundred years from now of course, 'Cause their dear old granny left for them, My home may be untidy, Old great granny's pulling roots Mel Oshins
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