Washing the colour out

Stepping out from the shower today,
I hang my head and blow,
The heat from the drier soon dries me out
And I toss my head back, just to show
A thicker pale streak, pure white, not gray,
Is cascading to my chin,
Last week I’m sure it was darker than that,
The faded bit relatively thin.
I never thought natural colour washed out,
Though I’d had a few outings with dyes,
But week after week, as I blow dry my locks,
I get more than a gentle surprise:
My crowning glory, almost to my waist,
Is not as it all should be,
I’m getting old and the face looking back
Is my mother, dear friends, not me!


About pensitivity101

I am a retired number cruncher with a vivid imagination and wacky sense of humour which extends to short stories and poetry. I love to cook and am a bit of a dog whisperer as I get on better with them than people sometimes! In November 2020, we lost our beloved Maggie who adopted us as a 7 week old pup in March 2005. We decided to have a photo put on canvas as we had for her predecessor Barney. We now have three pictures of our fur babies on the wall as we found a snapshot of Kizzy, my GSD when Hubby and I first met so had hers done too. On February 24th 2022 we were blessed to find Maya, a 13 week old GSD pup who has made her own place in our hearts. You can follow our training methods, photos and her growth in my blog posts. From 2014 to 2017 'Home' was a 41 foot narrow boat where we made strong friendships both on and off the water. We were close to nature enjoying swan and duck families for neighbours, and it was a fascinating chapter in our lives. We now reside in a small bungalow on the Lincolnshire coast where we have forged new friendships and interests.
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5 Responses to Washing the colour out

  1. DM says:

    the face in my mirror is a lot like my dad, and dare I say, even my grandpa…although he is still a few years out…>I know he is a coming! loved this post. I watch my wife ever so quietly morph into her dad’s mother. I am a rich man. DM

    • Hubby says he doesn’t recognise the old man looking back at him from the mirror, though sometimes when the light is just right, I can see his Dad in his features. I had a soft spot for the old boy, and apparently he had one for me too.

  2. I love this poem – so true!

  3. Barb Knowles says:

    Man can I relate to that! I remember the first time I walked past a mirror and out of the corner of my eye I saw my mother looking back at me. Now, of course, years later, that’s what I see every time 😃

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