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The Photograph

My fingers turn the pages

Of an album, stained with age.

I come across a photo

Of a girl I thought I knew.

Her smile is warm and gentle

And her face is young and new,

So different from the withered one

Imprinted in my mind.

She stares through time with eyes

Which now eternally are blind.

I wish I'd known her as she was

The day this photograph was born

But death has reaped her from this earth

And left me with this worn

And tattered picture.

My memories offer little peace,

An old and shattered woman

Is all I can recall.

Her mind was broken pieces,

Her soul had long since fled.

Perhaps one day our paths will cross

In a land among the dead.

For my grandmother.

                   

 

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