Photographers
So well they remembered,
the true color of the sky,
and the Character of Life,
That seeing it's demise,
Could not rest,
Could not stand by,
So Cameras loaded,
They crossed the world,
Seeking remnants of days gone by.
At a pace no longer known,
Time, once wasted, now spent,
Seeking whatever traces,
Of long lost Happiness.
Sweeping slow eyes, tear at the loss,
Fragments. Semblance. Tragedies.
The treasure lost in careless stampedes.
What still remains, is photographed.
Partial lessons for a new born child,
with no living memory of their own.
These two dimensional guides sustain,
but not reclaim.
The Real Beauty, a Memory.
Died with
The Photographer.
Now,
How can we Thank You, Sir,
For the last treasure gathered,
And given.
Can we restore in our Reality,
Your Memory?
HOW !?
Can we now Thank You ?
Not knowing that lost.
