Daughter Is Mother's Replacement.

I was combing my daughter's hair, Sitting in front of the mirror. I chanced to see a strand of grey Near the temple; I was perturbed. ‘She coming to age, I'm aging. She blooms as I wane in our life. As her hip bone is sharpening My breasts are slackening.' I thought. Is she a threat to my interest? Is she a rival to my pursuits? No, she is my copy in all: Looks, face, grace, talks and mannerism. God sent her as my replacement. She is not to overtake me But follow me in succession In the relay race of my breed. 01.08.2014