A little picture, browned,
Had a tear on its edge
Where moth and rust
Plagued it away
Wherever was this picture found?
In an attic? Where dust collects?
A tiny picture, profound
In all measure, fledged
With beauty like gold dust
A blooming fleur bouquet
Like an old tea gown
It was tossed with willful neglect
It did, very much, astound
Those who pledged
Their direct trust
Who lived in that day
Who’s beauty it drank down
In honest respect, its object
An old memory found
In a river of images read
The old photo must,
Their very lives, convey
A time, awfully proud
And happy, and perfect
Annie Cordelia Adams
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-little-picture/
