Sepia Poem by Kevin Eaglesfield

What's your name, my love?
You must be at least a hundred now.
I know you've been around a bit-
Passed on so another generation
Can lie on top.
Perhaps I should turf you out,
But then I may regret it
And anyway, when I stare hard
Your stern face seems to smile.
Careless aren't we?
You could be vital, then and now
With your high-collared blouse
And your hair pinned to death.
Did we cherish and lose you?
Did you live and die only with us?
Or did you merely touch us
And lurk as a reminder of
Passions long turned to dust?
Smile, you're safe with me.
I'll pass you on.