Scrapbook of Memories (Italian Sonnet)

Scrapbook of memories tattered torn,
but still I see that smile from halcyon days
fingers once traced a beloved gaze
lingered here, each page now creased and worn.

Left lying on a bed unmade since early dawn,
brushed by tears blurred through a dusty haze.
My mind drifts back, that happier time replays
before the crash and futures were redrawn.

Wander through this unfamiliar silent hall
pick up photos, not seeing grief benumbed,
silence gathers crowding each conscious will.

Spring to action with that long awaited call
the joy can only in these words be summed,
he lives, he lives! her husband's with us still.