I have tried over the years to trace my ancestors and learn all I can about them. I even wrote a short poem about my search. The poem reads:
Though faint, like echoes sensed not heard,
Their voices whisper softly in my heart;
Dim, through the shifting mists of time,
They beckon slowly with a half-seen hand.
Through torn and dusty remnants of the past,
In relics worn and weathered by the age,
I follow down the pathways they have trod,
And trace their time-blown footsteps in the sand.
I sent you a picture of my great-grandmother and great-grandfather for restoration. A picture dating back to the Civil War. A picture so faded and worn by time it was almost an unrecognizable blur. You restored it to a condition which must surely be better than the original and gave me my first glimpse at my great-grandmother’s face. She was beautiful. Thank you so very, very much.