She sits so proud upon her bed, she looks at me and nods her head
'Your late' she says 'where have you been? I'm 93 not 15'
'Don't have all day to wait for you my days are numbered, so much to do'
'My hair's a mess please sort it out unless you want to hear me shout?
She thrusts a brush Into my hands to comb her long Grey hair
which falls with grace upon her back 'Now dear, please take care '
'Now roll my hair into a bun but gently does it please
Oh that horrible nurse Sadie how she likes to tease.'
'My head is sore for hours when she attacks me with my brush
she is always in a hurry and always in a rush '.
No time for Lucy's long grey locks which she wears with pride.
so everday I'd tend her hair untill the day she died.
I do so miss dear Lucy her stories made us laugh
she only wanted to be heared just wanted one last chance
to share her life, her tales of love oh how she liked to boast
But brushing Lucys long grey hair is what I miss the most.
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Comments about this poem (Lucy's Locks! by Tracey TEE )
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