The Family Tree

In many ages past there stood

A large pine tree just by the wood;

And owing to the fruitful air,

The tree began to bear and bear.

The fruit thereof dropped on the ground

And shook the earth for miles around.

Some of it lodge ‘mid sticks and stones,

And people said, “We’ll call them Cones.”

And some were blown the country o’er

Which multiplied by score on score.

One lodged out west – land of bonanzas –

And rooted in Topeka, Kansas.

And, thriving there he thought that all

His brothers, sisters, great and small,

In one big basket ought to be

And sorted out in turn so he

Could make a list and tell just how

And when they bloomed upon the bow.

With basket then, a roomy one, –

His endless task was soon begun.

At first he went beneath the tree

And piled them in with boyish glee.

A breeze sprang up which shook the top,

Causing a score or more to drop.

Some were so small they sifted through,

And very sorrowful he grew;

While some were lively, full of fun,

And scaled the top and cut and run.

But on he wrought with iron will,

And strove his basket hard to fill.

“Aha!” quoth he, “a climb I’ll take,

And give the old pine tree a shake.”

Then straightway rose a rattling sound,

And cones were scattered miles around.

But nothing daunted on he wrought,

And other mammoth baskets brought.

And to this day he’s gath’ring cones

From down among’st the sticks and stones.

And tho’ they’ve spread from pole to pole

He has them in his pine tree roll.

June 28, ‘92

Written for W.W. Cone, Topeka, Kansas. The Cone genealogist.