John Henry McAfee was my great grandfather.

He came to America as a slave from Madagascar.

Used wit and cunning to advance very far

John Henry was not how he was originally known

Liking the name and feeling no shame, he made it his own

He was not born a slave, nor did he die in captivity

Lived for a time as a slave, but he died free

The legend that I have been told, is he resisted being sold

Hid in the forest for a while, retrieved by his old master with a smile

Remained with him until the end of slavery,

I am impressed by his awesome bravery

My great grandmother Lucy, was the love of his life

She eventually became his beloved wife

Father of fifteen, my grandmother was one of them

She often spoke in loving terms of him

Grandmother Josephine P., and great Aunt Allie C.

Were both gifted writers of poetry,

I pray, some of that gift has rubbed off on me

As time goes by, I expect that we will see.

He bought and cleared land for his family to live on

All but one acre of that land is now gone

That one acre is ours eternally,

A gift to all descendants of John H. McAfee

Many family members’ bodies are buried there,

It has received much tender loving care.