the crop of hair

the crop of hair

it had been a symbol of my childhood
it had seen a great deal of actions
it had gone through rain or shine
it had come of age in colours

it did not flinch in anxiety
it did not waver in doubt
it just sat there silently
it just waited patiently

then they came
the scissors
they cut
it’s off

poor
me

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Published in: on Sunday, August 19, 2007 at 11:53 pm  Comments (2)  
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