Yellowed monochrome photographs
Like albums packed with epitaphs
Lie stacked one upon another
By the bedside of her grandmother

With weathered hands and weary eyes
She turns each page, and softly sighs
As fragile memories return
Her heart will ache, her eyes will burn.

For hours, she will reminisce
Though piecemeal, memories persist,
and she'll whisper a prayer, eyes wet,
"Jesus, please, don't let me forget."