Thru a mist of years
I see a home,
The place where I was born,
And tho, like a dream, it's gone forever
I'll not forget it – ever.

And on the door someone stands
With long braids wound around her head
And the darkest eyes you've ever seen
This is my mother – and she is my queen
And near her I see my father,
He is tall and slender, his hair is dark red
And he works as a blacksmith to earn our bread.

“Mother bore us, shaped us, gave us love,
Taught us how to pray;
Told us of our father above and helped us find our way.”
Dad sang us songs to the tune of the brook
or the murmur of the rain,
And if a child were sick, he'd sing away the pain.

He sang to his family, he sang to his friends,
The drunk and the lonely, too;
No matter what the trouble
He could help what was wrong with you.

Now I've shared with you these glimpses
Of my loved ones of long ago
For these people belong to you
As well as to me, you know,
And as you turn these pages
Pause, and think and look
For it's your family you'll read about
Between the covers of this book.

Aunt Vi Wardle, 1986