When I was a little girl I would wander
through ancient woods and historic villages
admiration, reverence, longing to know
wishing, praying I could travel through time
with a yearning of how we got here.
Now, I flick through records and photographs
curious wonderment in my brown eyes
watching the branches stretch into history
stories of miners and farm labourers.
It really was another world.
If I was born in Victorian England
I might be a maid in the houses of Chelsea
or a farmers daughter without a trade
trying my hardest to simply exist.
Just another face in the crowd.
As the lines falter through time’s trees
mysteries remain; never to be resolved.
Ancestors circling around the globe
India, Australia, Wales and home
bequeathing a nomadic legend.
Inspired by one of my favourite television shows Who Do You Think You Are? and my passion for researching my ancestry.
Going back to unravel the mysteries of our ancestor army is I feel a very romantic thought..lovely poem.
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