Reflections
O
FTEN as I scan my mirror,
From its clear depths I can see
The face of my dead mother
Looking earnestly at me;
And at times my mother’s mother
Peers out at me as I pass,
Gazing at me, somewhat startled
From the framed and shining glass.
Then again it is my sister
Who is sitting in my chair,
Striving to arrange the stubborn
Plaiting of my wayward hair;
And today my small granddaughter—
Little brown-eyed laughing elf,
Laughed back at me, duplicating
The forebear I call my self.
Like begetting like forever—
On and on, the whole life line:
My kinswomen with their likeness
Very much resembling mine.
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