Frames of Memory

In corners of our lives they stand,

Silent sentinels, crafted by hand,

Holding tales in gilded gold,

Of stories new and stories old.

A wooden picture frame, a glassy gaze,

Captures love in endless maze,

The smiles of youth, the touch of grace,

Moments fixed in time and space.

From grandest halls to humble nooks,

They guard our hearts in quiet looks,

Silver edges, rustic charm,

Memories shielded from all harm.

In attic’s dust or parlor’s light,

They echo laughter, tears of night,

A wedding kiss, a newborn’s cry,

A sunset caught in an azure sky.

Each frame a portal to the past,

A bridge where present moments last,

Ornate, simple, large, or small,

They hold the pieces of us all.

The frame with cracks and weathered wear,

Tells of years and love’s despair,

Yet through the glass, a steadfast smile,

Makes every struggle worth the while.

A photograph within a frame,

Is more than just a face, a name,

It's echoes of a distant song,

A place where memories belong.

In every home, in every heart,

These frames of memory impart,

A whisper of the fleeting days,

The preciousness of life's array.

From birthdays bright to solemn days,

Their quiet power gently sways,

A timeless dance on mantelpiece,

In them, our cherished moments cease.

So let us frame each fleeting glance,

With love, with care, and circumstance,

For in these frames, our spirits lie,

Immortal beneath an ever-watching eye.

Embrace the frames of every hue,

For they hold dear, the essence true,

Of who we were and who we'll be,

In timeless, framed infinity.