“Who’s the man in the photo Nan?” A small boy asked one day
And as she saw the photograph the long years slipped away.
She saw a man in uniform and, standing at his side,
The image of her youthful self, so keen to be his bride.
How could she tell this little boy about that awful war
That took her soldier from her more than forty years before?
And then she’d married Grandpa, ‘on the rebound,’ as they say
But, though their lives had been fulfilled, some thoughts don’t go away.
They’d had their sad and happy times, but often, in between,
She’d think about her first love and the life that might have been.
It would have been so different; the many things they’d planned
She couldn’t share with any one; they wouldn’t understand.
The question – in its innocence – had caught her by surprise
And with rekindled memories the tears welled in her eyes.
“Who is it, Nan?” He prompted as the tears began to show.
With winsome smile she answered, “Just someone I used to know.”