The Forgotten Photograph
I took a picture from its wooden frame
and underneath it lay another
grey, faded, scratched and torn
a young girl posing with her mother.
Backs to a rugged cliff they sit
on tartan rugs, a fashionable pair
facing the camera gravely posed
dressed alike in berets with bobbed hair.
I think the snapshot came from Swanage Bay.
The younger of the women is my mother
a beauty, very tall and slim,
my much-loved grandmother the other.
My motherís happiness that day shines out
yet as a child she was a rebel
constrained by deep convention which
she fought and fought at every level.
A truce was signed that sunny day
and now they better understand
the love each one has for the other.
I hold that precious picture in my hand.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Clair Chilvers would be pleased to hear them.