Mother's Crown of Pink

My mother’s hair hung thick and to her waist. But seldom did she wear it in that way, for always in a bun she had it placed til it was loosed and on her pillow lay. She sometimes tells me how I'd kidded her. When I was small, I said, “Your hair is pink!” From how she tells this story, I infer I must have caused her tender heart to sink. She aged, yet grey was sparse upon her head. We said, “An older woman cuts her hair.” Mom acquiesced and lost those locks rare red she’d humbly worn for years when young and fair. She’s nearly eighty now, bobbed hair turned brown, And how I miss her once “pink” glory crown. By Andrea Dietrich