Family

Family The albums of pictures are dusty I take them all down one by one Even the pages are musty And the ink on the paper has run. Carefully I look at the strangers Here is a history of me I tried to imagine the dangers And hardships they all had to see. Some stood in a group, some were sitting It seemed that they each had their place I guess that they thought it not fitting To have a smile on anyone’s face. There were beards and scuffed old work boots Some ribbons and lace for the girls An old bowler hat and hair oiled to the roots Some with bonnets perched atop curls. As I looked at each generation closely They started to look all the same And under each picture, well mostly Was written in ink, just a name. The words written there on those pages Have blurred with the passage of time But the name has passed down through the ages Because; it’s the same one as mine.