I look at this little creature and I see myself.
My face, eyes and hair, all copied in this little elf.
It stops my breath and I plead “please, little one- don’t be like me.”
Then we walk in the wood, she grabs my basket and takes the lead.
I remember she is made of so much more,
The thirteen mothers that came before.
Her father’s people guide her too,
A long and noble queue.
The woods stop their spin
I am grateful for the company we’re in.
She is not looking at my footsteps to see where to go.
And that is all I need to know.
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