An Unexpected Ghost In The Yorkshire Post

She stares out at me from the page of white -
all pixels, paper, print and phantom eyes,
a child of contrasts under exposed skies
dancing somewhere between the dark and light.
I recognise the features well, despite
the brutal glare of histories disguise.
This archive feature caught me by surprise
for we are separated by times flight.
You are a ghost that flits across the page,
disturbs my unsuspecting breakfast read.
The spoon stops stirring, knife is laid to rest
and for a while I return to an age
when you would care and nurture, love and feed
your hungry crows before they flew the nest.