I like my hair when it's in a mess,
Sticky bits from a child's caress,
The wind that whipped my fringe about
Sticking hair to my glossy pout
I would like to have it thick and long
But it's never really been that strong
I remember my mother in despair
Trying to do something with my hair
Bows each side or a pony tail
Brushing away to no avail
It escaped the bands, it defied the clips
'Such fine hair', she'd purse her lips
She'd tug, she'd plait
She'd smooth it flat,
'It's not like mine, all glossy curls,
It's so unfair for little girls
To have such fine and wispy hair
It's like your dad's so thin and fair.'
I drink my coffee, read my book
Consider having a new look,
A girl comes now to wash my hair
In the mirror I see you there
My dear old dad is in my eyes
In my heart and it's no surprise
My mum's voice ,they're always there
Even when I do my hair.
No comments:
Post a Comment