Dear Ancestor,
"Your tombstone stands among the rest neglected and alone. The name and date are chiseled out on polished stone. It reaches out to all who care. It is to late to mourn.
You do not know that I exist. You died and I was born. Yet each of us are cells of you in flesh and blood and bone. Our blood contracts and beats a pulse entirely not our own.
The place you filled one hundred years ago, spreads out among the ones you left, who would have loved you so. I wonder how you lived and loved. I wonder if you knew that someday I would find this spot and come to visit you."
~Walter Butler Palmer

Dear Ancestor,
"Your tombstone stands among the rest neglected and alone. The name and date are chiseled out on polished stone. It reaches out to all who care. It is to late to mourn.
You do not know that I exist. You died and I was born. Yet each of us are cells of you in flesh and blood and bone. Our blood contracts and beats a pulse entirely not our own.
The place you filled one hundred years ago, spreads out among the ones you left, who would have loved you so. I wonder how you lived and loved. I wonder if you knew that someday I would find this spot and come to visit you."
~Walter Butler Palmer