MY ANCESTORS

As I search through the records old
Written by the scholars that were few,
I often wonder what it was like then,
Who people were, and how they grew.

It was fine if you were the squires son,
With food in plenty, I'll be bound.
He would not have to beg for a meal
Or worry where to sleep when day was done.

But what about the workers in the mines,
With dirt and dangers lurking all around.
When the day was finished, what reward?
A meagre wage? A hungry childrens whines?

And think of those in factories at the age of five.
Ten hours a day they laboured, only Sundays to rest.
Their tiny hands and feet nearly always cold and bare.
It really makes you wonder how any could survive.

But most of my ancestors came from mines that were bleak,
Dirty factory corners, and farm hovels cold and bare.
I am glad that they struggled so that they could survive
And I long to meet them, then my life would be complete.

For If they had given up and not fought to win through,
And died before they gave birth, to let the seed go on.
I would not be alive today, living in freedom and luxury,
And would never have existed to know joy. So thank you.

Ann Margetson
9 Feb 1995
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