Your tombstone stands among the rest;
neglected and alone.
The name and date are chiseled out
on polished, marbled stone.
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 knew
that someday I would find this spot,
and come to visit you.

Author Unknown

Your tombstone stands among the rest;
neglected and alone.
The name and date are chiseled out
on polished, marbled stone.
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 knew
that someday I would find this spot,
and come to visit you.

Author Unknown