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Rated: E · Poetry · History · #2160202
***Inspired by an old photograph my sister showed me.***
In a box of big Navy buttons, blue,
All torn, stained, and tattered,
The photograph stares up at me and you,
Its dog-eared glory ripped and battered.

Is she a wife waiting for a husband
Who will never make it home from war
In some far-off and foreign land,
Perhaps a mother not thought about anymore?

All torn, stained, and tattered;
A portrait of a steel haired lady,
Lies forgotten like she never mattered,
To anyone but her mother or daddy.

The photograph stares up at me and you,
Calling out to me gently and softly,
“I am beautiful, despite my faded hue.
Thank you for finding me.”

Its dog-eared glory ripped and battered,
Merely a worn piece of paper,
But once a heart that pitter-pattered.
Does anyone remember?

Is she a wife waiting for a husband?
“As soon as he is home we will be wed.”
Until then I wear a promise band.”
Her spirit waits with words to be said.

Who will never make it home from war
Or who will be forgotten right here?
We can sadly never be sure,
Of not being alone, far or near.

In some far-off and foreign land,
An old photograph peers from a rusted box,
Passed for years from hand to hand,
Like keys lost to their locks.

Perhaps a mother not thought about anymore
Deserves a visit or phone call,
It really shouldn’t be such a chore,
When you profess to love all.
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