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.
