by Nick Gisburne
The people in the photographs we find,
In shady places - markets, backstreet stores -
Were loved before their stories, left behind,
Enriched another chapter, mine, and yours.
Forgotten, all were destined to be lost,
But every precious memory survives.
Imagine it, the span of time they crossed
To sit for these, the portraits of their lives.
No names, no places, nothing else is known,
But photographs remember who they were.
Another life begins when they are shown
To startled eyes. Imaginations stir.
We’ll never know them now. We can’t pretend,
But every face has found another friend.
