A Puff of Smoke

Youth is like a puff of smoke –
You see it, then it’s gone.
The proof is in old photo albums
I just gazed upon.

The smiling faces caught on film
No longer look the same,
Despite a slight resemblance
To the selves that we became.

Although it’s great to see again
The happy times we’ve had,
Those photographs from years ago
Can also make me sad.

For once we were so young, old age
Was like a distant joke.
How could we know it lurked behind
That vanished puff of smoke?