The Picture

It was on the the shelf, in a corner,

A woman smiled in tones of sepia.

Nobody knew her anymore,

Or when or where she had been born.

And from the door,

Her face was the first thing that was seen.

Her eyes, as faded as her smile - maybe green?

Her hands were resting on her lap,

But the peace she tried to pass

Was nothing but a mask

Made of despair.

Her hair,

A dark mass at the top of her head,

With loose strands that reached her shoulders.

She was not much older,

But so sad...

And day by day, they passed by her

Without a worry or a stare.

She had been dead for such a long time,

That nobody cared...