A photograph brings me just back there,

that was my childhood, yours too, all of us real,

a time when we could rely on others

to hold our hands,

to brush away our tears,

to help our lives feel strong and worthy.

They would, she and he, glance upon our lives,

watching over with eyes faithful,

he, searching ahead, and she, with concern

to be sure all the time there would be

happiness.

They did so well,

all of us, we are remarkable in elegance,

each with a story to share that creates memory,

love and design we had no control upon,

yet with every moment our soul might recognize,

our spiritual guidance always to share,

always to offer a guidepost

that allowed life to continue

everywhere.

I glance upon a picture in a frame,

that dust has collected on for many years,

yet the figures who hold court

in that most romantic manner,

continue to be that heart and soul of love,

each life in still photography yearns for another time,

when play was real, and spirits soar,

we are family,

you and I and everyone that will recall

certain pain will keep our smiles delightful,

a photograph is a memory,

brings to life a certainty,

a soulful,

love.