She is the living definition of what we all once were
Of what we truly are inside.
Her smiling face with a missing tooth
Tugs at the rusted chains you ever so carefully tied long ago.
An aroma of feelings
Spiraling into the lines that sprawl upon your face.
There is a mystery in the magic she is using.
With just the slightest laughter,
The littlest dance,
She can tug on that bolt.
The way the sun's rays shine upon her
Brings back those memories
And a warmth the sun could never mimic.
The yellows and browns in her hair
Is an exact replica of the ones that came before her.
There is no escaping it.
The past just always seems to repeat itself.
So, will you stand back and watch her from the sidelines
Or will you grab that tiny hand.