Photograph And Memory Poem by John F. McCullagh

Photograph And Memory



In my hands I hold a photograph

That, for years, I hadn't seen-

It's the only one I've left now

from when we were seventeen.



You head cocked slightly to the right,

You strike a playful pose.

Your blue eyes fairly sparkle

above a button nose.



Your skin is fair and freckled

No makeup, none required.

Peasant blouse and chinos

are your casual attire.



Here too, is the letter that you wrote

The week my father died-

Some years had passed since seventeen-

You were no longer by my side.



You said he'd taught me how to love-

a consequential gift.

I'd had such a good teacher

That, in me, his spirit lived.


The ink is faint and faded-

the fault of light and time.

Or is it tears and fading vision

that makes it hard to read this time?



It's strange the things a man retains

as time starts to expire.

The memory of your kisses

in some neuron's random fire.



As this world counts beauty

You'd rank pretty, I suppose

But if I was the little prince

I'd choose you for my rose.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Chuck Audette 25 June 2010

Sweet tribute to one who made a difference in your life... -c

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