The old graveyard is covered with weeds
It seems that no one cares
For the hopes and dreams
Of the life and loves
Of the people lying there
There are stones weathered
By the hands of time
And off in the corner there
Is a single spot that has no stone
Whose child is buried there
Unloved or long forgotten
Displaced by the hands of time
I wonder the story she has to tell
This forgotten ancestor of mine.
My gram wrote this poem after I began to develop an intrest in genealogy. I now have family histories that points to Pocahontas as being one of my great grandmothers on my grandpas' side and on my grams side we stem from English Nobility.
