A photograph, deliberately blurred around the edges,
A smile, strangely shadowy and detached.
Tinkling peals of laughter accentuated with sadness,
Those soft enquiring eyes of yesteryears caught unaware.
The maiden I could have been, the lady I am not,
A slight breeze brushing past, as the fingers of destiny intervene.
The briefest glimpse of what would have been had I a different lot,
A soft ache of inexplicable longing, not quite pain.
Alas, this fragile reality entraps me,
A soft web of gossamer silk binds me.
Though somehow I regret not,
Traversing this passage of moonlight as Time passes by.
Muse – Who am I?