James L. Cowles--Ages

All of these kinfolk died early in the 20th century. In those days, when someone died, they were buried right on their homestead. Back then, a simple cold could lead to pneumonia, with very little professional treatment. The current owner was so kind, showing me where the old farmhouse once stood, which happened to be about a hundred yards away from the graveside.

My grandfather, Jesse, died in 1940, a year before my birth. The young farmer, owner of the farm, told me he noticed several "Cowles" headstones at a nearby church, and he thought my grandfather might be among them. We drove about two miles down the road, and sure enough, we found his grave. It made me sad to think he was was so close, yet so far from the rest of his family, but then, he lived a full life and their lives were cut short. I was moved to write this poem after my experience. I've lived so much longer than any of these folks, and although I never knew any of them, I felt their presence as I stood there looking at the simple stones, still there after all these years.

Photo courtesy of the author.

AGES

A soft breeze, a slight chill
The Oak bows low whispering it's lullaby
Gently waiving it's branches, a Maestro,
Keeping time with the music of the Kentucky hills
The Maestro's duty, his keep, lies near
Lies low, lies still, quietly listening
Sweet music now surrounding her,
Surrounds this sweet child, Eula
She lies not alone, no, no,
Her mother lies near, reaching for her
Her brothers also, near, seemingly standing guard,
Protecting their sister, watching over their mother
There is love, beneath the sweet sod of Edmonson County
Tragedy as well, now long forgotten
Once, they lived, these sweet souls
They loved, they walked upon this soft ground
Simple folk, tending the land
Then, they dreamed of days of plenty
Now, they listen to Meadow-Lark, from beneath crude stone markers
Creek stone, like them, so simple
They watch, as the conductor waives his colorful baton
But wait; their father, and their mother's husband, Jesse
Lies not two miles from them, wishing to be nearer
Apart, but no matter, for their spirits live elsewhere now
No longer cold, they live with the Saints, family once again