My mother's maiden name was Kennon, and for several years I've tried to tie in to the line of Richard Kennon, of Conjurer's Neck, VA.  I haven't been able to yet, but in the process I've visited the ancestral home in Colonial Heights, VA.  Here's the story:

Several years ago, my mother gave me this poem, which came from my Great-Aunt Frances Kennon Schweikert.

Conjuror's Neck

(Old Kennon House built on Appomattox River in 1635)

Built by the hands of fearless men,
A stronghold for the free,
Your spacious rooms knew women's grace,
And gentle courtesy
Knew joy and love and bitter loss,
For one they could not save,
Swift buried hope, a mother's fears
Lest vandals rob the grave
Of that first Kennon born, and laid
To rest so near the gate
His stone beneath the pear tree's shade
Marked sixteen forty-eight.

Your builders called you "Conjurer's Neck,"
And no doubt conjured prayers,
When on Smith's Creek a war canoe
Was added to their cares.
Black Pirate ships their anchors dropped,
But did not venture near,
Thick double walls gave stout defense
From preying buccaneer,
Despite the stealth of moccasin,
And sting of arrowhead,
Men tilled their fertile acres still,
Brave women forged ahead.

Clipped boxwood brought in pots of sand,
From "home" across the sea,
Deep rooted by the river side,
Have grown high as a tree.
From your brick walls a race of men,
Have moved through this vast land,
Still bearing in their hearts engraved
The things for which you stand,
The heritage of souls who dared,
With courage and with might,
To build on this new continent,
A home for truth and right!

Blanche Kennon Parker Nelson
Silver Springs, Md.

Frances Kennon Schweikert's notes in the margin are:
"This is copied from a poem written by this young woman who claims to be our cousin, and whom I visited in Washington, or near there - 1936.  You know this old house, which I visited once, was built with brick brought from England.  So you see what fame the Kennons have."