Question Me Now, My Children
Question Me Now, My children
Ask questions of me, my children
For time has a way…
Of slipping through fingers
Like reapers through hay
Your heritage is a treasure
That one day you’ll have need
Questions in need of answers
And no answers to heed
Was your great grandfather
A brown-eyed lad
Was your great grandmother
Perhaps a little bit mad
Ask about your ancestry
So interesting and rich
Was great aunt Sarah just an ol’ maid…
Or was she really a witch
How did they live the course of their day
And how the difference from yours
You live in a city, in a modern way
Perhaps they lived in the moors
How did your father meet your mother
What was their courtship like
And did grandmaw, elope with grandpaw
Did cousin Jenny marry up with uncle Mike
Did great-great grandmaw come from Ireland
Was her name “Whalen” changed from “Whelan”
By careless and lazy immigration officials
At a bustling and confusing, Ellis Island
Did these people bite their fingernails
Have a wart on their nose
Have children die prematurely
Enjoy happiness, suffer woe
Question me now, my children
For I get older, soon will come my time to go
And ‘twill be too late and ‘sadly twill be your fate
Of your rich heritage to ne’er know
Ask questions of me, my children
Before time takes me to task
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poem by David Whalen
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