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Wandering Through An
Antique Store (undated)
On wandering through an antique
store
And the folks hiding in the
old pictures there,
I am no judge of time immortal,
Mortal we have made it.
Yet these pictures judge it
for me,
That young woman, gilt-edged
frame
In the corner, smiling at me,
Can you see it?
Her life from a different history
molded,
Her story of ancient telling
is ended,
Selling for $35 with frame,
I must smile back.
She was blind as to whom she
would become,
And me then not even born,
Not yet even in imagination,
Feel the same.
And wonder too,
If I'm to blame,
If I fear my picture hanging
on a lonely wall,
Unnamed.
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*****
The Poetry of Vonne Barnett |
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