Though I’m under the spell

Of you when young, my life’s best half,

It still may not be well

To dote upon this photograph

For representations are but that,

Reality demands our all

Leaving even this photo flat

When I hear you in the hall

And yet one moment bereft

Of you who points my heart to heaven

Brings me to what’s left

Allie, artless, at six or seven 

‍