Somewhere just off the highway
Between over there and yonder ways
Stands a little church on a gravel road
That took me home in younger days.
As you pass my grandmother's old place
Where my ancestors once found their stead
Stands Uncle Pete's house in the woods
Where we held reunions and broke family bread.
It was at this place our stories were shared
As one generation met the one to come after
And mournful old eyes glimpsed a jovial horizon
Finding condolence in that future's young laughter.
It's here I learned the history of my inherited name
As I listened to the tales that ultimately lead to me
Of how I'm related to this person who begat that one
Or the tales of those who served in wars to keep us free.
As I listened to those stories it was hard not to notice
The gaze of the storyteller trace further down the trail
To where the gravel gave way to a dirt trodden path
That cut its way through Mr. Boone's forested dale.
Over the years I have often made this journey
Out past the places of my childhood memory
Down an old Kentucky road of gravel and dirt
That finds its eventual end at our family cemetery.
It is a place were serenity accompanies finality
A small clearing shadowed by the surrounding trees
Where each marble marks a loved ones peaceful rest
Their names etched in stone and whispered in the breeze.
My grandmother and Uncle Pete now lie in its shade
And in their passing it's only here we meet as a family
But it's on this road that I learned who I really am
And at its end lies my history and my final destiny.
© Joey Jones 8/13
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