The more you ask, dig, find
Questions increase, context grows
And family tree becomes more than lines
On a sheer, the story slows down.

Fixed dates are all well and good
But the colour, taste, flavour matter
As you knew finding a photo would add
And the blank spaces are shattered.

He now has kids, a profession
She has a town, a street, a house
But the reality as depression
A cold tap tin bath, lace-cushion.

Little is glamourous about the past
And few of have the vaulted royal glitter
So it’s Agricultural Labourer, home worker
That’s the truth and no cause to be bitter.