In morning's early hours
When books pall
And reverie drifts in,
I think, at times,
Of my forebears.
My parent's parent's parents.
Did they think of me?
Through Time's tunnel
We sanctify their world.
A Golden Age
Of Truth and Honour
And homely pleasures.
Will our grandchildren's grandchildren
So beatify us?
Michael Morris
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/forebears/
