Pictures in a closet, lend me a hand,
deliver warm delights of my bygone days.
Turning back pages, tearing away hard edges from me.
I have been so hard on her all these years, but staring into her eyes now, I am wondering a long and deeply felt "why"?
She didn't try... she simply was. Flipping the old pages shook her awake in me. She's sharing some nice things with 52 year old me. I wish I had ran into her before.
Her small, yet powerful pose powerfully points the way forward to me in an easy, childish sort of way.
And he said: