Memories Of Her Comb Poem by Gavin Anderson

I love the smell of your hair;
'Tis rich beyond compare.
And you ask me how I know —
It happened awhile ago …

In passing by,
You dropped a comb
From out of your lovely locks.

I picked it up
And took it home
And placed it safe in a box.

To keep it, I nay could do,
For it belonged to you.
I thought me of my loss
To part that thing o' gloss.

Oh that I were
That fortunate ware!
To have such a glorious spot!

To be all day
Near at your hair!
A lovelier thing I know not.