Little Lady

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.


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