Reflections

I look at them, what do I see?

Just my reflection looking back at me.

He may be cute, he may be fun,

but there is no mistaking that boy is my son.

When he uses that bad word, wonder where he got,

then I remember they are like parrots.

That little girl running so wild and free,

Look at her, she could only have been fathered by me.

She drinks and smokes and stays out with her friends

She got that from me, my ways I must mend.

Yes, when I look at them, what do I see?

Just my reflection looking back at me

And let me tell you...it is really scary.




Author's Notes/Comments: 

This really isn't about my children...they are great.  Like apples, though, they don't fall far from the tree.

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