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.
AUTHOR UNKNOWN

Barney, very very true.

Brilliant Barney, I have tried a few times to print some of your choice of poetry but the print is to small for my friend who has a problem with his eyesight and I would so much like to share it with him , however Barney keep them coming they really are a great choice. Regards Ted

HI TED YOU CAN GO TO ZOOM OR VIEW

Growing old is a privilage not given to every one

Barney, wise words once more.

Growing old is hard work, but it's better than the alternative.