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James Whitcomb Riley - When Mother Combed My HairJames Whitcomb Riley - When Mother Combed My Hair
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When Memory, with gentle hand, Has led me to that foreign land Of childhood days, I long to be Again the boy on bended knee, With head a-bow, and drowsy smile Hid in a mother`s lap the while, With tender touch and kindly care, She bends above and combs my hair. Ere threats of Time, or ghosts of cares Had paled it to the hue it wears, Its tangled threads of amber light Fell o`er a forehead, fair and white, That only knew the light caress Of loving hands, or sudden press Of kisses that were sifted there The times when mother combed my hair. But its last gleams of gold have slipped Away; and Sorrow`s manuscript Is fashioned of the snowy brow-- So lined and underscored now That you, to see it, scarce would guess It e`er had felt the fond caress Of loving lips, or known the care Of those dear hands that combed my hair. . I am so tired!  Let me be A moment at my mother`s knee; One moment--that I may forget The trials waiting for me yet: One moment free from every pain-- O!  Mother!  Comb my hair again! And I will, oh, so humbly bow, For I`ve a wife that combs it now.
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