Photo of a grandmother

A picture on a piece of tin,

Old and brown of hue,

A woman in her middle years,

Someone I never knew.


A wistful look upon her face,

Some features close to mine,

And plaits entwined about her head,

In keeping with the time.


Her image gazes out at me,

But doesn't let me know,

How it was in the far, far north

A hundred years ago.


My knowledge of her life is sparse,

So I cannot tell her tale,

Except her children numbered five,

And her husband died in jail.


But a strange old metal photograph

Is all that I can see,

Treasured by her loving son,

And handed down to me. 


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Helen Reed
May 4 2020

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