 by John Raymond Burns 2/2/1972 Homebound and quiet, were things he was not. Footloose and carefree were things he was wont, Always going or coming from wandering jaunts. “Where ever thou leadist’, my man, I will follow.” “Tho Thomas was born, to make them a home, Five years slipped by before they could roam. To Ireland they sailed, it was their first stop. Two years it took them to plan and agree, To set out again across a great sea. ‘Tho to leave him behind, no doubt they would grieve. But they went anyway, and left him behind, To Thomas, of course, this was very unkind. No place to teach him life’s ways and life’s rules. So he was “bound out,” for seven long years, A trade he would learn, and to thereafter, adhere. He’d follow hi folks; he’d find out a way. So he gathered some cheese and the meal of the oat, And hid himself snugly in an old sailing boat. ‘Till the ship was seaborn and well on it’s way. The captain was angry, but what could he do? The son he had, died when still only two. A son he had now, the captain’s full joy. So he taught him the ropes, and the ways of the ship, And made him cabin boy, the rest of the trip. From London to Lisbon, or South Buenos Aires. Or Manila or Sydney or old Singapore, Depending of course, on the cargo she bore. The Straits of Malacca, he was always sea-born. By the wind and waves, and the light of the sun, No parents, no playmates; to have any fun. And then the next day, the same thing again. The sailors from Norway, or Sweden or Spain, Portugal, or Portland , a chink, or a dane. Three times round the globe for this buccaneer. ‘Till up from Brazil, and up the Hudson, he rode To deliver and help with some horses, unload. It stirred up his memory, where his parents were to go. “Where’s Buffalo?” he asked, with a gleam in his eye, “Follow this canal, and you’ll no go awry.” Where in this town, Could my parents reside? A man on the street now stopped with a stare A young Thomas Burns, with his wild, reddish hair. He stopped Tom and asked, “Could your name be Burns?” “You walk and you look like a man I once knew, I worked with him, and he looked so much like you.” And now he was searching, to find them once more. On to Fort Gratiot, on Michigan’s shore They had gone once by oxcart, just two years before. To get to Fort Gratiot, that town he would scout. To renew the long search, to follow their trail, ‘Tho it seemed the first week, he surely would fail. The answer was “No”, where ever he turned. ‘Till a grocer in town, who’s last name was Orth Said “Yes, there’s a man by that name farther north.” To walk those twelve miles and not go astray. He inquired on the way, had the house pointed out; He knocked on the door, his mom looked about. This house is a mess, no strangers, I pray. Tom asked fo a meal; he was weary, footsore, His mother, not knowing, tried closing the door. “We feed no the tramp, you’ll have to disbar!” So he laughed, and he grinned, at his now angry mom, Then se knew!!! Here at last, was her long lost boy, Tom! Ran to her father, her eyes all agleam. “Come quick to the house, where someone is trying, To hug an kiss mama, and mama is crying. After fourteen long years, they were completely delighted. ‘Tho farming was different than sailing a ship, He took over the farm, with many a slip. The Civil War came, with no great alarm. ‘Till a draft call arrived; would he have to fight? Yes, it was true! And he was up tight. For three hundred dollars, He’d go to war. That many dollars of Tom was a strain, But he paid off the man as he got on the train. The man with the money had left in the dark. Thomas, of course, was no longer obliged, To serve in the was, or fight either side. Charlotte, and Min, and Flossie, and John. And Simon, my father, was fourth on the list, As they struggled on the farm, to live or exist. And hopefully now is resting in heaven Seventy one years, on land and on sea. For Thomas S. Burns, my own grandpere. |