"Dear Ancestor,

Your tombstone stands among the rest;
Neglected and alone.
The name and date are chiseled out,
On polished, marbled stone.

It reaches out to all who care...
It is too late to mourn.
You did not know that I exist,
You died and I was born.

Yet each of us are cells of you,
In flesh, in blood, in bone.
Our blood contracts and beats a pulse
Entirely not our own.

Dear Ancestor, the place you filled
One hundred years ago,
Spreads out among the ones you left
Who would have loved you so.

I wonder if you lived and loved,
I wonder if you knew
That someday I would find this spot
And come to visit you."

(This poem was written in 1906 by Walter Butler Palmer)

"Dear Ancestor,

Your tombstone stands among the rest;
Neglected and alone.
The name and date are chiseled out,
On polished, marbled stone.

It reaches out to all who care...
It is too late to mourn.
You did not know that I exist,
You died and I was born.

Yet each of us are cells of you,
In flesh, in blood, in bone.
Our blood contracts and beats a pulse
Entirely not our own.

Dear Ancestor, the place you filled
One hundred years ago,
Spreads out among the ones you left
Who would have loved you so.

I wonder if you lived and loved,
I wonder if you knew
That someday I would find this spot
And come to visit you."

(This poem was written in 1906 by Walter Butler Palmer)