You walk in the room,
Straight inside,
And right to your left,
A picture’s trying to hide.
Behind an Indian doll
Without a face,
Beside a black box,
An old record case.
Next to a signed baseball,
Jackie Robinson, it reads,
Directly across from a set of books,
About all your household needs.
And then there’s the photograph,
Mixed in with the chaos of this world,
The people in it never knowing in which
Direction their life will be hurled.
They stand there, together,
Never knowing what is to be,
Smiles on their faces,
“Cheese!” on one, two, three.
How could she know that he be killed
In 9/11’s terrorist attacks?
Had someone told her that back then,
They’d have been told to check their facts.
We never know what is to come,
And we probably never will.
But who will be there for us
With a hole in our heart to fill?
So there the picture stays, amongst objects of the past.
And we’re thankful for the snapshots
That make those people last.