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There's Been a Change in
Grandma
There's been a change
in Grandma, we've noticed as of late.
She's always reading
history, or jotting down some date.
She's tracing back
the family, we'll all have pedigrees,
Grandma's got a
hobby, she's Climbing Family Trees...
Poor Grandpa does the
cooking, and now, or so he states,
he even has to wash
the cups and dinner plates.
Well, Grandma can't
be bothered, she's busy as a bee,
Compiling genealogy
for the Family Tree.
She has not time to
baby-sit, the curtains are a fright.
No buttons left on
Grandpašs shirts, the flower bed's a sight.
She's given up her
club work, the serials on TV,
The only thing she
does nowadays is climb that Family Tree.
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 monumental project
- to that we all agree,
A worthwhile
avocation - to climb the Family Tree.
She wanders through
the graveyard in search of dates 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.
Now some folks came
from Scotland, some from Galway Bay,
Some were French as
pastry, some German all the way.
Some went on West to
stake their claims, some stayed there by the sea,
Grandma hopes to find
them all as she climbs the Family Tree.
There were pioneers
and patriots mixed with 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 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, farmer,
weaver, judge, some tutored for a fee,
One 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 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 suppose.
Grandma will cook and
sew, serve crullers with our tea.
We'll have her back,
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 It was 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 Grandmašs
voice we heard that old familiar ring.
She told him all
about the past, and soon It was plain to see,
The Preacher, too,
was neatly snared by Grandma and the Family Tree.
-- Virginia Day
McDonald, Macon, GA |
