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I look into his eyes, and I see my own. I watch his walk, and I see my own. I note the successes and the failures, for they are my own. I remember the father, for he was my own. I wonder at the son, for he is my own.
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7 comments:
Lovely music, Mouth. Definitely your own.
Mouth
second offie's comment...
ancient music and minted as coins with the head of the family...
yours truly
Doc
Fifty words for an eternal story...I really like this, MotM, simple and deeply felt.
Thanks guys.
My kids are away at the moment, and I found myself looking at a photo of son number one and, just for a second, I could see my father, not my son, so I thought I would write something here.
I'm particularly grateful for the comments, because I haven't supported Zeph's excellent initiative here as much as I should. I shall kick back and read over the weekend.
Great to see you here, Mouth, and echo the others that this is a lovely 50-worder. It's sometimes heart-breaking with the next generation. I look at my nephew and see so much of my father in him that at times, I am moved to tears.
very nice Mouth, very well crafted too
love the echo of 'my own'; language used to represent it's meaning, the genetic link that binds and might even show a glimpse of your future grandson or a side of the old druid ancestor
interesting too that these 50 word stories are prompting such rich and pregnant paragraphs
Cheers File.
The 50 words limit is useful - economy in writing always is - and felt just right for a momnetary insight that stretched a lifetime into the past and a lifetime into the future.
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