They are gone now
The old ones
They look down at me
From the framed photographs
Walls are adorned with them
My eyes are weak now
When I look up at them
I do not see wisdom anymore
But the message is clear
One day I shall have my place
Amongst them
A lifeless framed photograph
Someone may look up at me
As I look up now
And hear the words of wisdom
Spoken many moons away
Don’t waste your precious time
Once gone, won’t come back
Yeah right
What am I doing now
This poem is in response to Jane Dougherty’s A Month (November) with Yeats Challenge day Three
Fleeting Muse 
This is so true and so moving! Reminds me of all the fading photos my grandmother had on the mantelpiece, looking down at us as we looked up at them with wonder.
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Thanks for the kind words. Appreciate your comment.
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I suppose the main claim to fame of ancestors is that they are dead and can’t do anything more, stupid or otherwise, so we assume they are wise. You’re right, no point just gazing in awe—do something!
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Many of those reminds me of what could have been.
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There’s still time…
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Row, row, row your boat ….
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🙂
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