It was worn and faded, hard to make out.
The corners were gone, but it was all he had.
He held onto that photo every night.
He'd fall into slumber with it on his chest, wishing she were there.
He was in a distant land, sent by Uncle Sam.
She was left alone, to tend their home.
The photo was all he had to hold, when the night turned cold.
Every night she would kiss his photo before she climbed into an empty bed.
She knew it wasn't fair, but her heart loved a soldier sent to fight.
The photo was their bond through time and space.
Copyright © 2020 Ann Bell Feinstein