<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416914" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>When Mother Combed My Hair</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When Memory, with gentle hand,<br>Has led me to that foreign land<br>Of childhood days, I long to be<br>Again the boy on bended knee,<br>With head a-bow, and drowsy smile<br>Hid in a mother's lap the while,<br>With tender touch and kindly care,<br>She bends above and combs my hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ere threats of Time, or ghosts of cares<br>Had paled it to the hue it wears,<br>Its tangled threads of amber light<br>Fell o'er a forehead, fair and white,<br>That only knew the light caress<br>Of loving hands, or sudden press<br>Of kisses that were sifted there<br>The times when mother combed my hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But its last gleams of gold have slipped<br>Away; and Sorrow's manuscript<br>Is fashioned of the snowy brow--<br>So lined and underscored now<br>That you, to see it, scarce would guess<br>It e'er had felt the fond caress<br>Of loving lips, or known the care<br>Of those dear hands that combed my hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">. . . . . . . .</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am so tired! Let me be<br>A moment at my mother's knee;<br>One moment--that I may forget<br>The trials waiting for me yet:<br>One moment free from every pain--<br>O! Mother! Comb my hair again!<br>And I will, oh, so humbly bow,<br>For I've a wife that combs it now.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Whitcomb+Riley">James Whitcomb Riley</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416914" data-title="When Mother Combed My Hair de James Whitcomb Riley" data-description="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 ..."></div> </div> </div>

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