In that instant in 1939,
The light of our lovely star
Touched her face as she rested
Calmly in the arms of her mother.
The lens shot bleaching rays
At the chemical-soaked paper,
And there it was.

Too short a slice of time to capture
The pride in the hearts of her parents
As one held the baby and one snapped the shot,
The chaos of the world flowing
Through the innocent eyes and
Impressioning the fresh new mind.

I see the photo and fill in the blanks.
Too much to fit in an instant,
Eighty years was barely enough.
The photo had drifted through it all,
Stuck to others, even as the words
And the thoughts and the minds
Fell away into ashes, paper scattered to dust,
Shells battered into nameless beach sand.
Whatever meaning is, it is not meant to last.

When I cease in turn,
It will be another piece of paper.

You may burn it.