In the right corner of a lounge
Nestled on an antique cupboard
Rests a picture of a child
Through an echo time has sculptured
He stands their inconspicuous
With sadness tied in his appearance
As he clutches a cagy kitten
Lodging nails that cause him to grimace
An awkward expression of pain
Shades his pudgy docile cheeks
As the light of a June day reflects
Inside the monochrome still frieze
It’s a moment from a lifetime
Remembered only by waking dead
And to whom we are the living
A fantasy of folding threads
As this picture snares my vision
To the boy he will always be
As I his Grandson weep for
In his shimmering past Marquee
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem