<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420145" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Photograph and Memory</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In my hands I hold a photograph</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That, for years, I hadn't seen-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's the only one I've left now</div><div style="margin:10px 0">from when we were seventeen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You head cocked slightly to the right, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You strike a playful pose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Your blue eyes fairly sparkle</div><div style="margin:10px 0">above a button nose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Your skin is fair and freckled</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No makeup, none required.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Peasant blouse and chinos</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> are your casual attire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here too, is the letter that you wrote</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The week my father died-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some years had passed since seventeen-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You were no longer by my side.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You said he'd taught me how to love-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">a consequential gift.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'd had such a good teacher</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That, in me, his spirit lived.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>The ink is faint and faded-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the fault of light and time.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or is it tears and fading vision</div><div style="margin:10px 0">that makes it hard to read this time? </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's strange the things a man retains</div><div style="margin:10px 0">as time starts to expire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The memory of your kisses</div><div style="margin:10px 0">in some neuron's random fire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">As this world counts beauty</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You'd rank pretty, I suppose</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But if I was the little prince</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'd choose you for my rose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+F.+McCullagh">John F. McCullagh</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420145" data-title="Photograph and Memory de John F. McCullagh" data-description="In my hands I hold a photograph That, for years, I hadn't seen- It's the only one I've left now from when we were seventeen. You head cocked slightly to the right, You strike a playful pose. Your blue eyes fairly sparkle above a button ..."></div> </div> </div>

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