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Gravestone.
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Standing at the graveside
Reading the gold lettering
On the large, black marble slab,
The years fall away to
A long time ago before I knew.
I feel more than empathy,
I feel the souls of the dead
Talking to me as if I was there
When they lived.
My Great Grandparents lie
Interred, and time passes by.
Two Great Uncles lie with them,
Twins in life and in death -
Robert dying first at 28 years
Then John, 8 years later,
Killed in action on the Somme.
Their mother, Elizabeth,
Died the previous century
In 1899 at the age of 43.
Alfred, the family patriarch
Speaks to me in silent sounds
Echoing through the years
In reverberating emotions.
I see them alive, hear their sounds,
Feel their joys and know their sadness.
For I am them and they are me
Joined in timeless perpetuity.
Alfred's spirit flows through my veins,
That of intinerant horse trader -
You wouldn't cross him and
Live to tell the tale!
His sons were chips off the old block.
Those who survived were fighters:
Ped, a boxer, could knock the light
Out of anyone for a couple of pints
On a Saturday night.
A bare-fisted fighter
And a gentleman in the ring,
Then a publican at The Erimus
On the wilderness road.
Thomas, my Grandfather,
A blacksmith with strong arms
Like tree trunks, forged from
The smelter and the anvil.
His was the only hand I held
Whose lips kissed my cheek
When I was a child.
The rest are within me
And haunt me
As ghosts do a churchyard.
And I stand still at the graveside
And reflect on past lives.
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Links:
Tom Cowley's Music Site.
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