her photo caught my eye
an old black and white
that served to mystify
her simplicity.
and all around the wall
amongst strange faces
the elders will recall
hers was familiar.
a youthful air, demure
midst her meager class
less than twelve be sure
small town graduates
and like phrases that rhyme
or those that strain to
her smile tried touching mine
across many years
a sudden thought occurred
at once hopeful dark
as though a ghost had stirred
that she may still live
alone and dressed in lace
a small frail lady
friendly and soft of face
someplace here in town
perhaps the small white cape
on outer main street
clapboards weathered scraped
greying through the seasons
or the dark shuttered place
by the verrill farm
that lilacs have embraced
with purple perfume
and we could meet for tea
to talk of those times
before she knew of me
and my autumn heart
Filed under love, Writing
Tagged as love
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