just another poem

The Photographer

All alone at the corner of play
stands the photographer;
His lens ever watchful.
Left, right, prowling, aiming,
Shooting joys and memories alike.

*click*
*flash*
*snap*

All alone at the corner of play
stands the photographer;
His captives smile and delight.
Yet, what lies within that frame of his,
Who knows, but only him? (Or does he?)

*click*
*flash*
*snap*

All alone at the corner of play
stands the photographer;
He holds silent, and watches her.
The perfect picture he longs to take,
But alas, the timer ticks; he can, but focus.

*click*
*flash*
*snap*

All alone at the corner of play
stands the photographer;
He struggles within.
To finish his album of life.
_______________
JOHN YU


A thought to ponder:
A picture paints a thousand word. What more the painter who paints a thousand pictures?