Pap-pap

I’m only three, But I know who you are. 
You’re old smile’s contagious, Curved and beautiful.
I smiled and run toward to you, My tiny arms outstretched.
You hold me to your chest, And kiss my curly blonde head.
War has not treated you well, The Flying Tigers has made you frail, 
You’re body is melted, Old and tired with knobby rickety knees.
I climb up onto your lap, on the frog covered bed, 
You gently curve the corners of your mouth,
Not like you used to, but close enough.
You like the green color of my shirt And say how beautiful I am. 
You grab my hand And point to my mom
“Smile!” She says. A flash appears, and then it’s gone. 
The last time I saw you, captured.