AN OLD WOMAN’S HAIR

Once upon a time

My hair rippled down my back

Waves that glistened in the sun

That swung from side to side

With the flippancy of youth.

Today in my mirror I see only

The lank and sparce remains.

This is not my hair, my mane.

This is a charade

A dastardly trick played by time.

My barrettes no longer strain

to hold my heavy tresses. Instead

they slip, fall away and are lost.

Ribbons, too, fail to stay in place.

Scarves may hide but not replace

The thick richness of my yesteryears.

Today in my mirror I see only

The lank and sparce remains.

This is not my hair, my mane.

This is a charade,

A dastardly trick played by time.