They stood together for a photograph; Aunt Bessie and Irene.
One the aging matriarch, the other still a teen.
Irene’s hair was a fiery red well matched with eyes of blue.
Bessie’s days are numbered now, life’s journey nearly through..
Bessie’s one hand held her cane, the other Irene’s arm.
Irene was a vision, heading off to senior prom.
One has all her life before her, for the other just a past.
Irene looks much as Bessie did,  when Bessie was a lass.
I have seen old photographs, creased and Sepia toned
When Bessie was  Belle of the ball and stood beside some crone.