Hair
His mother would stroke his hair,
with gentle fingers.
It made him purr.
Fingers withdrew.
Time combed thinning years.
A one-night woman
took his head in her lap.
It was good to feel again
that love that fingers have
for hair.
In time, he settled down
with a lady,
who bred Afghans.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2019
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