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A poem of family love
We gathered at least once a year
Then some disappear as if
A Piper led them off a cliff
Now there are those chosen few
Who stick together like the toughest glue
Without the slightest reason
Stay in touch throughout the seasons
For them to not would be treason
They sigh and say
They were brought up back in the day
Their blood flows true the old-time way
They will always keep in touch
Dependable in a clutch
For their family still means so much
Whichever they be it’s like history
Some make it to the pages of fame
Then some will revoke
As if never they spoke
A word or played any game
Their pages are blank
As if always outflanked
Who can guess how they were spawned
They go their own way
Day after day
To never know a bright sunny dawn
I’ve known every kind
They don’t bother my mind
I still love each one the same
For where would I be without my family
Those who carry my forefather’s name.
— WOLRAD
(A poem from the Wolrad collection #260)
