Old Family Pictures

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    The forgotten box I found them in
    Smells of dust and “olden times.”
    The styles they wore are strange.
    But I handle each photo carefully,
    Touching only the edges,
    Looking slowly
    At each piece of the past.
    The faces seem to be so still,
    Gazing steadily through the photo finish.
    But I feel as though it’s one-way glass
    As I try to reach beyond the picture
    And penetrate the years.
    I silently wonder,
    Are we really so far apart?
    And the faces smile,
    Content at my wondering.