Now friends, we’ve all been walking
Down that same old dusty path
Memories stick like thorns
Through weary photographs

Crumpled round the edges,
Yellow light has infiltrated
Sitting under a dusty window
Black and white now faded

Old pictures tell a frozen story
One which words cannot explain
Where people loved to laugh
And their smiles were not tamed

When a ‘family shot’ meant cheeriness
And a love that lasts forever
The picture dripped with meaning
Yet on paper light as feathers

When women wore their cherries
On aprons starched and pressed
When men tended their barbeques
With pride and happiness

When kids played in the street
When cars approached they ran
Then resumed their game of baseball
With rusty garbage cans

How these pictures tell such stories
That some brave soul dared to take
Freezing life in the moment
Nothing edited or fake

And memories stick like thorns
In mama’s attic on the floor
Perhaps not recognized today
But there forever more
 
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