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Poems On / About HAIR  2/10/2016 2:01:59 PM
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  157.     

Another Year Gone… It Worries Me Not!

The signs are creeping in; I’ve started to notice,
As I hit 30, it was the first grey hair,
Then at 31, it was the first ear hair,
At 32, I had to acknowledge the receding, and take action,
Now here I am on the eve of my 33rd Birthday,
Greying, with as much hair in my ears as on my head,
And what do I find?
White chest hairs are creeping in… damn them!

I look at photos and think, God I look young there,
Which makes me realise how much older I must look now!

But don’t be fooled into thinking I’m a maudlin,
Or that there’s melancholy concealed within (not this time anyway!)
I have so much to look forward to,
That I can accept a few grey hairs,
And a few more signs of age,
For I am loved in abundance,
And each passing year that grows,
So, another year gone… it worries me not!
 
Daniel P Martin

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  158.     

The Dolls Braided Her Hair

She wove ribbons in her hair,
the gold strands mixing with the red.
It help her naivety,
her innocence until she met Kindergarten
who tore the ribbons from her hair
and threw them to the wind.
He carried distant memories
even further from her.
She lost everything to the wind,
trading it for logic and friends.
They cut her hair and threw some into story books,
burning them before her eyes.
Her dolls cried alone in her room
as they huddled together,
braiding the hair that had been cut from her head.
It made a crown of red and gold strands.
She ignored the crown and it disintegrated.
Years later when her own daughter was
talking to the dolls,
they told her about the crown.
She cried, and they braided her hair,
weaving it with ribbons.
 
Andrea Stuckey

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  159.     

Delilah

Delilah, why did you go and cut my hair?
I told you I loved you and you cut my hair,
And now I just watch and stare
As my kingdom falls down around me,
All because you cut my hair.

I was weak, I told you I loved you,
You said you needed proof,
So I went and told you the truth
Of my Achilles’ heel,
And you took your scissors out
And turned my life into ruins.

Delilah, why did you lie to me?
I thought, for a moment,
That I might be in love,
Then you went and cut my hair
And all I can do is cry and weep
As my friends fight around me.
Delilah, why did you cut my hair?
Couldn’t you break my heart instead?
 
Charlie F. Kane

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  160.     

Xvii: The Stars Have Not Dealt Me The Worst They Could Do

Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrists?
And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists?
And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air?
Oh they're taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.

'Tis a shame to human nature, such a head of hair as his;
In the good old time 'twas hanging for the colour that it is;
Though hanging isn't bad enough and flaying would be fair
For the nameless and abominable colour of his hair.

Oh a deal of pains he's taken and a pretty price he's paid
To hide his poll or dye it of a mentionable shade;
But they've pulled the beggar's hat off for the world to see and stare,
And they're haling him to justice for the colour of his hair.

Now 'tis oakum for his fingers and the treadmill for his feet
And the quarry-gang on Portland in the cold and in the heat,
And between his spells of labour in the time he has to spare
He can curse the God that made him for the colour of his hair.
 
Alfred Edward Housman

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