ramblings and things

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just an old box of photos

Just a box of old photos on my desk for twenty years.
Pull one out from anywhere and a memory appears.

When Uncle Joe died
Aunt Elsie really tried
She had always lived in his shade
And very soon she began to fade
I visited as often as I could
But with my own family problems
Not as often as I should
We tried to talk tried to fill the gaps
But most times our chat would lapse
I hope she drew comfort from my just being there
I hope I didn't show I needed to be elsewhere
When I cleared her house I found
This battered old biscuit tin
With all these photos
Just thrown in
Saw the little girl
Slowly grow
To the beautiful woman
Who captured Joe
Saw my village peopled
But such a shame
No one left now
Knows their names
I think of the fun we should have had
Aunt Elsie and me
Could have filled all the hours
That old box on her knee
Picking faces telling shames
Telling all the fun and games
No conversation dragging
Hoping she didn't know
As soon as I could
I wanted to go

I really believe we are never truly dead
So long as thers our picture in someone's head:
It's not really that much of a shame
If they cant recall our name.
That old box of photos on my desk looked at a little nearly every day
That old box of photos that will never again be shut away

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just an old box of photos