-----Original Message-----
From: Kenneth Calvit <kcalvit(a)bellsouth.net>
To: philip calvit <pjcalvit(a)aol.com>; Meg in nj <MSmeal(a)aol.com>; Liz Lester
<LZL1712(a)aol.com>; LATAYNE STANFILL <lsstanfill(a)aol.com>
Date: Wednesday, August 18, 1999 11:21 PM
Subject: POEM
-----Original Message-----
From: Kenneth Calvit <kcalvit(a)bellsouth.net>
To: Kenneth Calvit <kcalvit(a)bellsouth.net>; Kay <kayn(a)webtv.net>; LATAYNE
STANFILL <lsstanfill(a)aol.com>; Liz Lester <LZL1712(a)aol.com>; Meg in nj
<MSmeal(a)aol.com>; philip calvit <pjcalvit(a)aol.com>; laura calvit
<jeclec(a)intcomm.net>
Date: Wednesday, August 18, 1999 10:25 PM
Subject: poem - last transmission failed
Reflections
The book slipped from her hand
as she leaned back
in her chaise,
The soft ocean breeze
of summer
caressed her cheek
As she closed her eyes
for a moment of reflection.
The gentle soothing melody
of distant windchimes
brought to mind
the reminiscent sounds,
so familiar - yet unknown.
Cowbells, perhaps?
Cowbells around the necks of cattle
grazing on the grassy foothills
in the South of France.
Cowbells? France?
Such quaint musings -
Had she ever been there?
Oh, no!
Not really.
Ah! It came to mind - Pierre!
In the book. Pierre, the bellmaker.
The maker of bells for cows.
Would that she could
take that quantum leap,
span the chasm of time.
Oh, to take
the nine long steps
through the centuries,
and sit there
with Pierre
on the sun-warmed rocks
in the meadow.
"Pierre, I have so much to ask you.
I want to know just how much of you am I?"
"I want to know, truly, who I am."
"Do you enjoy the eventide so?"
"Do you long to know those yet to come,
the hearts of those before?"
"Pierre, Pierre tell me!"
"There is so much I need to know
that only you can tell.
for I am here only -
because of you - and you - and you..."
"The seeds of generations nine -
and still of you."
"When sadness overcomes
and tears do fall - is that of you?"
"When summer goes,
and winter moods match
earth's gray skies - is that of you?"
"Or when the sun gives up its glow,
and the golden sky fades into darkness,
do you feel my empty oneness,
this bond of being,
this tie with the past?"
"Surely you must have wondered, too,
and ask the self-same questions.
Questions for which there are
no answers."
Startled suddenly from her reminiscence,
she continued to ponder these things;
and a hint
of a smile
came across her face
as she thought how nice
it would have been
to have had this talk,
to have really had this talk
with Pierre.
Pierre,
who lived 350 years
before her time.
In France.
This beautiful poem was written about our ancestor, Pierre Calvet, by Latayne Stanfill.