My grandfather, before I was born
As a teenager went off to war
He left his life in South Africa
Kissed his home and parents farewell

Captured, became a prisoner of war
Worked in fields under fear of death
(Would never deny another a morsel of bread
Because he knew what hunger would mean)

In time, an end was declared
Waiting game had to be endured
To be transported across the seas
Back home to family and peace

He met my grandmother
In Scotland while he had time
Back home they began to write
Until he requested her delicate hand

Her parents agreed
Back on a ship he returned
They wed in Scotland, and he took her away
He twenty-seven and she nineteen

My mother was born
In the Cape of Africa with a view
Of Table Mountain standing tall
A formidable witness for all

My father lived in another place
And as with my mother’s mother before
Her parents acquiesced with his request
For her to be wed, and to be taken away

I was born in Johannesburg
Which is another story to tell
I grew up in Africa
Was blessed by the land

Like my grandmother did so many years ago
And then my mother followed suit
I kissed my homeland and family goodbye
And started a life somewhere new

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_writing_challenge/digging-for-roots/

Cape Town images courtesy Ali McGill Photography