There is – a stone that connects me to a place I never lived,
stories with nostalgia from a childhood that wasn’t mine,
fairytales that were told, my eyes feel they didn’t dream,
heroes I have met who were gone before I learnt to breathe.
There is – a stone more prestigious than where elites are laid to rest,
a plot of grand design though its tenants were rank and file,
generations who left roots catching fish to building tanks,
family that headed north for work from shores of Penzance.
There is – a stone holding many folks with hand-me-down names,
ghostly photos stuck in scrapbooks that resurrect their grins,
ancestors over centuries who must’ve lived through ups and downs,
gaps I try to fill to glue the past with here and now.