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 © | Year Posted 2019

Poem

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Wanter Avatar
September 27, 2019 at 9:55 AM
Love it. It's so different!
Ashford Avatar
September 27, 2019 at 10:04 AM
Thank you Sunlite!
Pigeon Tart Avatar
September 27, 2019 at 9:28 AM
And wonderfully written.
Ashford Avatar
September 27, 2019 at 9:29 AM
:-) Ta!
Pigeon Tart Avatar
September 27, 2019 at 9:26 AM
Hearty lol. Thank you.
Ashford Avatar
September 27, 2019 at 9:29 AM
Love those 'hearty loll's" Cheers Maureen.
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