Family names: Blickensderfer, Bryson, Cline, Corn, Dillon, Dunk, Gilmore, Highman, Knowlton, Lowe, McVay, Mickey (Muecke), Mobberly, Reilley, Sharrock, Slane, Stinger, Wilson, and many more.

Please let me know if you have any additional information to add to any of the memorials that I have entered. I may also have some information to share with you. Good luck in your searching.

A Poem for Reflection

The limbs that move, the eyes that see,
These are not entirely me;
Dead men and women helped to shape
The mold which I do not escape;
The words I speak, my written line,
These are not uniquely mine.
For in my heart and in my will
Old ancestors are warring still,
Celt, Roman, Saxon, and all the dead
From whose rich blood my veins are fed,
In aspect, gesture, voices, tone,
Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone;
In fields they tilled I plow the sod,
I walk the mountain paths they trod;
And round my daily steps arise
The good and bad of those I comprise.

~by English poet Richard Rolle, written over 600 years ago

The author may be unknown of this poem, but the name shown at the bottom was cut from a newspaper with this poem as it is written. Perhaps, he wrote it or just submitted it.

I would rather have one little rose
From the garden of a friend,
Than to have the choicest flowers
When my stay on earth must end.

I would rather have a pleasant word
In kindness said to me
Than flattery when my heart is still
And this life has ceased to be.

I would rather have a loving smile
From friends I know are true
Than tears shed round my casket
When this world I've bid adieu.

Bring me all the flowers today
Whether pink, white, or red
I'd rather have one blossom now
Than a truckload when I'm dead.
~John Dillon, Sr.
Frazeysburg, Ohio

Family names: Blickensderfer, Bryson, Cline, Corn, Dillon, Dunk, Gilmore, Highman, Knowlton, Lowe, McVay, Mickey (Muecke), Mobberly, Reilley, Sharrock, Slane, Stinger, Wilson, and many more.

Please let me know if you have any additional information to add to any of the memorials that I have entered. I may also have some information to share with you. Good luck in your searching.

A Poem for Reflection

The limbs that move, the eyes that see,
These are not entirely me;
Dead men and women helped to shape
The mold which I do not escape;
The words I speak, my written line,
These are not uniquely mine.
For in my heart and in my will
Old ancestors are warring still,
Celt, Roman, Saxon, and all the dead
From whose rich blood my veins are fed,
In aspect, gesture, voices, tone,
Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone;
In fields they tilled I plow the sod,
I walk the mountain paths they trod;
And round my daily steps arise
The good and bad of those I comprise.

~by English poet Richard Rolle, written over 600 years ago

The author may be unknown of this poem, but the name shown at the bottom was cut from a newspaper with this poem as it is written. Perhaps, he wrote it or just submitted it.

I would rather have one little rose
From the garden of a friend,
Than to have the choicest flowers
When my stay on earth must end.

I would rather have a pleasant word
In kindness said to me
Than flattery when my heart is still
And this life has ceased to be.

I would rather have a loving smile
From friends I know are true
Than tears shed round my casket
When this world I've bid adieu.

Bring me all the flowers today
Whether pink, white, or red
I'd rather have one blossom now
Than a truckload when I'm dead.
~John Dillon, Sr.
Frazeysburg, Ohio