MOVING PHOTOGRAPHS

I saw the saddest of footprints.
How loudly they spoke
of those dimming skies
and how I put up with gloom.

Time turned them into cadaver;
Yet, the warmth never once left me;
I remembered all those stories—
The coldest: a classic.

At the thought of them
Five fathoms deep in your backyard,
I could only wish they’d keep
rising from ash.

© Gheeneil

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