"so young" we say - in that photo
a life that was or was not taken
by the poets themselves
how we do in longing look
for the clue of why
of why why why
we ask
why did they change the flavour
of a life in line’s words
that are now as nuanced
as the last falling of a leaf
or that pressed flower
never to fade between the pages of a look
a look back at us from that
always photograph cracked in sepia
not a sob but the enigma of a smile
before we turn away
before we turn back
to stare into those eyes
unable to fathom the unfathomable
transfixed
and then there are the wee ones
crying to be fed
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