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Wrinkled hands reach for a sepia photograph
The same story is told again
To this stranger who has come to introduce herself.
The tale of a life, creating life,
Which, in turn created new life.
And there the story ends,
With a granddaughter,
Ten years old.
The stranger that was there throughout,
Unbeknownst to you
Who sits in the chair beside you,
Twenty years old,
Listening to your tales
Like an old familiar record.
There are silent tears in the eyes of this stranger
And as you smile happily at your brand new friend,
You cannot understand why.
“It was lovely to meet you my dear,
You really must visit again soon…”

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