It Takes Time To Take A Picture

when I was growing up I took a photo
and hoped it captured what it meant to be young
I found it long after, buried away
and I remembered what, when old, I'd wished I'd done
I looked at the picture long and hard
and admired the content, perhaps naivety, on my face
I could see the thoughts and dreams
in my discerning, romantic eyes of fortitude on display
I sighed at the sight of the love
next to me in the picture, whom at my expression was aimed
and cried a couple of tears
for the innocence time and memory from me eventually claimed