She pasted memories, to look back on later,
to little scraps of colored paper.
Placed in a book, wrapped up in ribbon,
laid on the shelve in plain sight hidden.

Photos of family, and picture show stubs,
all the little things that reminded her of
  the times before we all were grown.
  In that big empty house, it didn't feel so alone
     with those neatly arranged, to smile at later,
      carefully laid tinny scraps  of colored paper .


Every page told a story of her life,
years that sometimes escaped her mind.
Children, grandchildren, all were there,
when she forgot a name, she'd sit and stare.
  Her mind, she knew, was almost gone,
  but with that little scrap book, life would go on...
    
   ...In those pages of places, people and times,
       she placed each little note on every line...
  
    ...In collections of impressions to recall again later,
        carefully kept new  on colored paper .


I'm sorry to say, I only found it later,
those photos of the life that made her.
Past down to my sister for safe keeping,
I saw her looking through it, quietly weeping.

  I guess those times now, are all but gone.
  Grandma kept a scrapbook, like I write songs...

   ...They're just memories, to sing again later,
      like little bits of life    on colored paper  .