PrenticeNet

One of our correspondents submitted to us the following poem, entitled "Kinsman," by Wayne Hand which admirably describes the frustrations we all feel in tracing our roots.:

    Kinsman

   Alas, my elusive kinsman
   You've led me quite a chase
   I thought I'd found your courthouse
   But the Yankees burned the place.

   You always kept your bags packed
   Although you had no fame, and
   Just for the fun of it
   Twice you changed your name.

   You never owed any man, or
   At least I found no bills
   In spite of eleven offspring
   You never left a will.

   They say our name's from Europe
   Came state side on a ship
   Either they lost the passenger list
   Or granddad gave them the slip.

   I'm the only one looking
   Another searcher I can't find
   I pray (maybe that's his fathers name)
   As I go out of my mind.

   They said you had a headstone
   In a shady plot
   I've been there twenty times, and
   Can't even find the lot.

   You never wrote a letter
   Your Bible we can't find
   It's probably in some attic
   Out of sight and out of mind.

   You first married a .....Smith
   And just to set the tone
   The other four were Sarahs
   And everyone a Jones.

   You cost me two fortunes
   One of which I did not have
   My wife, my house and Fido
   God, how I miss that yellow lab.

   But somewhere you slipped up,
   Ole Boy, Somewhere you left a track
   And if I don't find you this year
   Well...... Next year I'll be back!

       Wayne Hand c1999

If you have any verses to add to the poem, please contact us at dewald@prenticenet.com.