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  • An insightful friend once told me
    I have a thousand ancestors
    For every three-hundred years of history

    Two parents, four grand-parents
    Great-grandparents eight
    And so on, and so forth
    One thousand to just one

    So who were these ancestors
    Together tangled in my genes
    Who are these faded souls
    Layered in my being

    They were English, Scottish
    Native American and French
    Businessmen and knights
    A bandit and a serving wench

    They were shy and kind
    Outlandish and rude
    They meet each other two by two
    Through circumstance or
    Simply chance

    And love or loss or violence ensued
    And somehow brought forth life anew

    Now here I am
    The result of random happenstance
    But a thousand voices
    Whisper softly
    There is no such thing as coincidence
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