Your tombstone stand among the rest,
Neglected and alone,
The name and date are chisled out,
On polished marble 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 and blood and 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 as you lived and loved,
I wonder if you knew,
That someday I would find the spot,
And come to visit you.