Her hand trembled just a little,
Her aging, withered hand,
What it held, so valuable,
Few folks would understand.
A tarnished frame - a faded photo,
Too light in weight to measure,
Yet almost too heavy for that hand,
Which held it like a treasure.
She couldn't see the picture well,
Her eyes had dimmed a lot,
But she knew the frame by feel,
And it gave her pleasant thoughts.
Oh, she s'posed the frame should go,
Perhaps time to be replaced,
Yet it was a gift from him,
And it still held his handsome face.
The frame now older than he was,
When they sent him off to war,
And the photo now much older, too,
Than he ever was before.
She wished she could see it better,
Though she knew it well by heart,
Not a furrow in his forehead,
Not a wrinkle - not a mark.
Well, she had enough for both of them,
She smiled through her tears,
Would he love her, if he saw her now
After all these many years?
Every wrinkle - every crinkle,
Every crease and every line,
Respectable, honorable medals,
Which she had earned through time.
Blue veined, thin skinned, translucent, too,
Yes, now he could see inside,
Would he love her just as much today,
As the day she was his bride?
Yes, she guessed she'd keep that old frame,
She raised it slowly to her lips,
Though tarnished, stained, and smudged,
She gave it a gentle kiss.
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
Copyright May 2003 ~ Revised May 2005