Woolly sheepdog

Life is rarely dull and unchanging

Just like my hair.

Into the world I came

A real bouncing ‘baldy Brunner’.

After far too long,

Some fair feathers showed up

Sprouted into a mop of flaxen curls

As a tiny tot, I indignantly protested

“I’m not Blombie!”

Clueless about who or what ’Blondie’ was.

Childhood’s boring straight, brown hair cut short

embraced the smorgasbord of life as a teen

Curls and waves in sun bleached crown

Ringlets twirled round fingers

Whenever I felt distracted or shy.

On a Cairns street corner

At the ripe ‘old’ age of 21

My first grey thread was spied and weeded, unasked

By a ‘helpful’ friend!

Life flew by as my hair darkened

Until the arrival of my three babies ‘shocked’ it

Into giving up its curl and progressively, its colour

Faded ‘mousey’ became grey streaked to silver

I fondly call it ‘platinum‘ but fool no one!

It shows up in photos like a shining flying saucer

My head, a convenient landing pad.

I wear an endlessly cyclical ’hairdo’ of short & spikey

Through to woolly sheepdog…

But Hey!

I’m grateful I escaped Chemotherapy,

So keen to pounce and sweep my scalp bare

And possibly leave it there!

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Inspired by Grz Colm’s Hairy Scary!