[or-roots] The Census Taker

[Lorraine Works]

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>> The "Census Taker"
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>> It was the first day  of census, and all through the land;
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>> The pollster was ready ...... a black  book in hand.
>> He mounted his horse for a long dusty ride;
>> His book and  some quills were tucked close by his side.
>> A long winding ride down a road barely there;
>> Toward the smell of fresh bread wafting up through the  air.
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>> The woman was tired, with lines on her face;
>> And wisps of brown hair she tucked back into place.
>> She gave him some water ... as they sat at  the table;
>> And she answered his questions .... the best she was  able.
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>> He asked of her children ... Yes, she had quite a few;
>> The oldest was twenty, the youngest not quite two.
>> She held up a toddler with cheeks round and red;
>> his sister, she whispered, was napping in bed.
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>> She noted each person who lived there with pride;
>> And she felt the faint stirrings of the wee one inside.
>> He noted the sex, the colour, the age
>> The marks from the quill soon filled up the page.
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>> At the number of children, she nodded her head;
>> And saw her lips quiver for the three that  were dead.
>> The places of birth she "never forgot";
>> Was it Kansas? or Utah?  Or Oregon .. or not?
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>> They came from Scotland, of that she was clear;
>> But she wasn't quite sure just how long they'd been here.
>> They spoke of employment, of schooling and such;
>> They could read some and write  some ... though really not much.
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>> When the questions were answered, his job there was done;
>> So he mounted his horse and he rode toward the sun.
>> We can imagine his voice loud and clear;
>> "May God Bless you all for another ten years."
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>> Now picture a time warp ... it's now you and me;
>> As we search for the people on our family tree.
>> We squint at the census and scroll down so slow;
>> As we search for that entry from long, long ago.
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>> Could they only imagine on that long ago day;
>> That the entries they made would effect us this way?
>> If they knew, would they wonder at the yearning we feel;
>> And the searching that makes them so increasingly real.
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>> We can hear if we listen the words they impart;
>> Through their blood in our veins and their voices in our heart.
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>> Author Unknown
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