Heather OC: Week 15 of 208

One True Beauty

Finally, where I hoped you would be; now

Butchered much to my misery.

Locks of glitter and a solid length,

Shelved in a closet. My joy it has tanked.

Speechless in chair, I let her chop.

Feckless, left with fuzz, straggles, a terrible mop.

Fopp and tears, folding laundry and such.

A night of shifting terrors kept waking me up.

Jo sold her tresses to climb.

Apples, typewriters, war effort, equine.

Her sisters rushed in to comfort her woe,

While here in my parlor, I suffer alone.

How long til these strands regain their rightful pace.

Silken ties or bonnets no longer to hide this disgrace.