I have an old chest of my mothers
Filled with something for which I care.
Placed there inside, neatly in rows
Are the combs mother wore in her hair.
Some are inlaid with gold, some with gems
And some are plain, for everyday wear.
There also, tied with a ribbon of blue,
Is a lock of her Sable Brown hair.
How often I sat and watched as she brushed,
Then fashioned the strands in a braid.
How I marveled as she combed and pinned
And the fancy hair-dos that she made.
Then she placed the combs just rightly so
That they would surely be seen,
All around her head like a halo
Enhancing her hairs silken sheen.
How I love to look at those combs
And stroke the lock of her hair,
Remembering days long gone by
When she was so young and fair.
How I cherish that old worn out chest,
The combs and the lock of her hair.
Each hold in my heart sweet memories,
A treasure far beyond compare.
For she’s gone to be with Jesus now,
And instead of combs for her to wear
Her head is graced with a golden crown,
There's no need for combs in her hair.
So, I place them gently in the chest
Along with the lock of her hair,
And brush a tear drop from my cheek,
Knowing someday I'll meet her there.
Midi, Precious Memories
Sequenced by Harry Todd and used with permission. Thanks Harry.
Clip Art, Absolute Web Graphics