Eighteen Carat Gold

I have realised, having read some of the comments on this one, that I posted the wrong copy of the poem...what prompted me to check back in my files was the comment about "oft" which I knew I had put right in a subsequent revision. I see, from this subsequent revision that I have also given the poem a new and perhaps easier to understand look so I'll post this one and then answer the questions below. Sorry for the confusion: Revised version:- Eighteen Carat Gold It happened yesterday inside her mind but no one seems to understand as threads of past unwind. They see she has forgotten years between and doubt her certain clarity of one specific scene. This memory is eighteen carat gold, rough edges smoothed by time and by the times it has been told. Though audiences change at every chime, she recounts with the same undaunted mimicry and mime. A photograph is captured in her eyes and plagues her fondly, teasing with its sepia entrance. But, colourless, it conjures no disguise. In truth, the golden tints alone the memory enhance Three sisters stand in adolescent pose. Like paper dolls, they link at even points, or so it seems. A hint of autumn gathered up in bows and lustrous eyes with implication for a young man’s dreams. Their innocence was but a camera’s lie yet who remains to know the truth as one by one they die? An ancient with no reason to deceive, the lines upon her face the only truth their eyes believe. Her recollection’s often hit or miss and ears are deaf to those who, with conviction, reminisce. She knows it is the sweetest irony that God has granted time to reinvent her history. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ older version below EIGHTEEN CARAT GOLD IT happened yesterday inside her mind But no one seems to understand as threads of past unwind They see she has forgotten years between And doubt her certain clarity of one specific scene This memory is eighteen carat gold Rough edges smoothed by time and by the times it has been told Though audiences change at every chime She recounts with the same undaunted mimicry and mime A photograph is captured in her eyes And plagues her fondly, teasing with its sepia entrance But colourless it conjures no disguise In truth, the golden tints alone the memory enhance Three sisters stand in adolescent pose Like paper dolls they link at even points or so it seems A hint of autumn gathered up in bows And lustrous eyes with implication for a young man’s dreams Their innocence was but a camera’s lie Yet who remains to know the truth as one by one they die? An ancient with no reason to deceive The lines upon her face the only truth their eyes believe Her recollection’s oft times hit or miss And ears are deaf to those who with conviction reminisce She knows it is the sweetest irony That God has granted time to reinvent her history