Small Town In California

In that far northern part was where I was born, Over forty years ago my journey started in my home. My Mom and Dad worked so hard to feed us eight kids, If one can learn to love anyone in this world it was them. My mom told me one day her mom was born on a wagon train, Of how Great Grandma traveled over Donner Pass in winter, Just two weeks after the Donner Party passed away. Great Grandpa never got over it she would say. Still, 16 children her mom would birth way back then, It gave me enough aunts and uncles and cousins for life. In fact it was almost enough to start our own small town, Of course that's also another story left for the pondering. My Dad's real father died when Dad was only 4 months old. His name was Charles Epps and was kin to the Wilkinsons, Dad has told me stories of the famous English iron masters, And of how George Washington by marriage was my relative. Isn't it funny how that fact now makes no difference to me? Because I feel akin to all my brothers and sisters of earth. We all started somewhere on this world and no matter where, And I didn't have a damned thing to do with what George did. So isn't that much more relative to the point we all make? All I know is I watched my Mother and Father sacrifice for us, That is all that truly matters and is all that truly counts. To love all the billions is what flies my current mortality. Famous or unknown we all end up just exactly the same, Spirits with no mortal baggage holding us down for take-off. Free at last to roam a universe forever untied from greed, And beyond a place that once was called a human's paradise. Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved "A poem to me is the essence of any thought, Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky. It can fly like no other bird to places never seen, Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place." © 2014 Robert William Gruhn