Picking through old photographs.
by Brian Joseph Dickenson
Recalling ghosts of the past.
Remembering people and places,
But the pictures are all that will last.
Just frozen moments of memory, of good times,
So long ago.
Of summers that died with the winter
Of laughter buried neath snow.
But then the snow melts away with a warm spring day
And laughter returns to my heart.
So I start life again, but still bear the pain
Of living while we are apart.