I can't place him,
Or them, or her.
The past is sim-
ply all a blur
In photos tak-
en who knows when:
I can't unmake
The lack of pen
On versos now.
It seems that I
Did not allow
For time to fly.
I'd said: I shall
Soon place each snap
Inside an al-
bum with a cap-
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tion or vignette,
Penned long before
I can forget
The subject or
The date ... But no
Such blurbs got scrawled.
So long ago
Can't be recalled
From pictures of
The time. Instead
I turned a prov-
erb on its head:
If there's a dearth
Of words, viz. nix,
No words aren't worth
A thousand pics!
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