Not that I can recognise - people stop me not to say that you have got my eyes,
or chin or lips or smile.
Perhaps my nose, small and round.
And hair - kinks and curls - blonde just now,
set to turn to golden brown.
And your brother is the same,
like his Dad in every way - or so people say,
almost every single day.
Like I would say to friends - off hand,
that boy of yours is just the very double of his Dad.
I say it less these days.
For likeness to a mother is in more than just a face.
In spark and laugh and grace,
in pretty clothes and funny ways,
in we can always find a way and didn't you do great.
In I am worth as much or more as anybody else.
In temperament and pace. In lit up eyes and happy face,
In me and mine and just about a million different ways.
You may not look my double but you're just like me the same... x