Lineage

And sometimes when I have become
A quiet portrait on the wall,
Will you, my fair descendant, stop
To think of me at all?

Suppose your hands are shaped like mine,
You have my nutmeg sense of fun,
(Will there be one to tell you so
There, when my days are done?)

If you love books and fires and songs
And slipper moons on lilac skies
Toss me a look of shared delight
From those my own dark eyes.

For there is kinship in a curl,
And keepsake in a spoken name,
And wine of life may yet be poured
By hands within a frame.

Author Unknown; Found in the effects
of Cora Woodward Anderson DuLaney (Memorial ID: 86507054 )
(June 22, 1887-March 31, 1981)

Lineage

And sometimes when I have become
A quiet portrait on the wall,
Will you, my fair descendant, stop
To think of me at all?

Suppose your hands are shaped like mine,
You have my nutmeg sense of fun,
(Will there be one to tell you so
There, when my days are done?)

If you love books and fires and songs
And slipper moons on lilac skies
Toss me a look of shared delight
From those my own dark eyes.

For there is kinship in a curl,
And keepsake in a spoken name,
And wine of life may yet be poured
By hands within a frame.

Author Unknown; Found in the effects
of Cora Woodward Anderson DuLaney (Memorial ID: 86507054 )
(June 22, 1887-March 31, 1981)