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.
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