LYDIA

This cabinet card photo was in my great grandmother’s
photo album, but it was unidentified.  Sadly, her identity is
lost in the pages of time.  I spent some time imagining
what her life might have been, and penned my musings
in this rhyme.   I've named her Lydia.  It seemed to fit.
Submitted to Poets United,  Poetry Pantry#386
January 14, 2018
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Born in a cabin on bounty land
The youngest of many, her mother’s right hand
Still, she learned to read and write
Sometimes reading far into the night.
At a tender age, she took up her pen
To chronicle her life as it was then.
Marriage, then children, and still she wrote
Each new event with a careful note
The Civil War ended, the family moved on
When things were unpacked, her journal was gone.
Who knows what happened to Lydia’s book
Wouldn’t I love to have had a look
Now she has a page in this journal of mine
And, though we don’t know her, I've taken the time
To think of her life as it was then
And what might have been written by Lydia’s pen.
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