After The Event

Thanks to Hilary for chastising me! No Poem?! Am I slipping? No - I just thought the picture I painted was awful enough to make everyone shudder, without heaping verses upon their consciousness as well. So this morning I will rectify the situation, belatedly, and await Blogland's observations upon the following slightly pensive poem.

Hair Cut

Thinning hair assumes
a temporary order
as scissor blades cross.

Its pale strands drift down,
settle like falling snowflakes
on indoor carpet.

Little colour left
since age and life together
bestowed silver crown.