There's a special velvet cushion which I hold dear
A lovely cherished memory, a small soft square
Stuffed with silver tresses that I have sewed in there
In the sacred hollow lies strands of mother's hair
I recall one of my greatest moments
When she allowed me to comb her hair
Nothing else in my world ever did compare
So thick and beautiful blowing in the air
The day she had it cut, I burst into tears
But her reason made itself quite clear
As she grew older, it did not seem fair
She lost the will to live as Father was not there