Heredity
I am the family face;
Flesh perishes, I live on,
Projecting trait and trace
Through time to times anon,
And leaping from place to place
Over oblivion.
The years-heired feature that can
In curve and voice and eye
Despise the human span
Of durance -- that is I;
The eternal thing in man,
That heeds no call to die
Thomas Hardy
It's the small things, right? Like the strangeness of looking into an old photograph, or one's mother's face, and seeing oneself.
ps Thank you to my grandmother, who introduced me to this poem.
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