The Frame

It has held
a thousand pictures
but it remains
just as new.

The old wood
smells like spring
and the metal tacks
have their own sheen

Each picture it held
a story untold
each memory shared
and buried.

Some with
people smiling
some
frowning.

Of children
their birthdays
of elders
a remembrance.

Of families
big and small
of lonely souls
just alone

Of some man
in a grey hat and a gun
of some girl
with candy and gum

Of some lady
her grace reflects
of some boy
with a naughty grin on his face

Of hunters
with tigers
and lovers
in summer time

Each picture
it holds,
a story
unfolds.

Now it lies
in a cupboard
never
to be seen again.