Golden Locks

By Joseph McGowan

It is said that throughout time or so I am told
That man has treasured silver and gold.
He’s worn it and formed it into statues that guard his palace walls
And as histories shown he’s watched those golden statues topple as his empire falls.
He’s fought and died and sold his soul
All in the name of silver and gold.

But as time goes by and it turns weathered and old,
And it loses the brilliance it once did hold,
Then he who possesses tries to sell and can’t get a whole lot
And the trinket finds its way back into the smelter’s pot.
Yes, man can be foolish and cherish bits of rocks and ore
And spend his time and money on trinkets found in a store.

But these simple hair clippings I hold in my hand mean more to me
For they represent a time and a person you used to be.
They tell of a time when we first cut your hair.
You were flying a plane in the barber’s chair.
Your smile was wry and you just weren’t so sure,
But some comforting from Mommy and Daddy was just the cure.

As the barber snipped away, it was as though he had cut into time.
See, you were no longer the baby at birth I called mine.
It had been just a year and, my you had grown.
Mom and Dad were so proud of the seed we had sown
As your golden locks hit the floor.  My eyes began to tear.
I just couldn’t believe it had been a year.

I thought, but alas, time waits for no man
As I gently picked up your curls and placed them in Mom’s hand.
She looked up at me as a tear of joy ran down her face.
I thought to myself, I’d always remember this moment as we embraced.
Yes, man will always treasure silver and gold
But they do not compare, to your curls that I hold.

Copyright© 2006