Past lurks in picture, this I know,
A presence from the long ago.
Her life was hard and mean and cruel.
She cleaned without a modern tool.
Here she was shunned, demeaned, bereft.
Past would not follow when she left,
And so it lurks, just out of range,
Hoping somehow a past can change.
Glad to have left her past behind,
She has moved on, new life to find.
She prays wayfarers will beware
Of past that proved to be a snare,
And run from horror in that room
Or it could be a burial tomb.