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Guardian
Litle girl,
I remember being your lost father,
lives tend to coalesce,
curse or bless.
I may have been the mother of your mother,
reincarnation and karma,
point to where they are most needed.
For the rest of my life,
or for another millennium,
you will always be -
my little girl,
or my long-lost son.
An unknown guardian
found me looking for you,
then led me away,
to be a prodigal
always returning
from one paradox or another.
Time is a footprint,
on a windblown sea,
seeds grow,
wherever the Universe
plants them.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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