By Jack Hooper

Am I my father, with second chance,
Made of his genes that gather and dance.

I use his style, and sound his mind,
And all the while, as if they’re mine.

No one knows, or could match what we do,
Only I’m aware, how similar the two.

It’s not a plan, that I meant to be,
From a separate man, no one can see.

It just happens, when I don’t expect,
Him and me, somehow connect.

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