Each strand was carefully massaged,

Follicles exfoliated and sun glare camouflaged.

Barely three weeks old; his hair nourished each night.

Comfy dreams in soft slumber, with tales of dragons, quests and an extraordinary knight.

Sleep cherub faced boy.

Sleep in contented joy.

Days pass to years as his lunch box was packed full.

Nutritional lunch: fruit, egg salad sandwich and a raisin box; soon he was as strong as a bull.

He kicked up a fuss and expressed his distain.

His mother stood without a flinch, like the moonlight unflickering rain.

Go cherub faced child.

Go make friends and run wild.

Rinse and repeat. Avoid contact with eyes.

The mother couldn’t remove her prideful smile from morning goodbyes.

Back in her arms, washing his hair one last time.

She reminded him “You need to wash it yourself from now on. It’s your grease and grime.”

His cherub faced giggles.

Her loving tickles.

Quickly time passes ever so fast.

Baby bath time has left to live in the past.

The mother stares contently at the flower patterned wall.

Her son massages her weaken hair, every strand that might fall.

Sleep tight kind mother dear,

Sleep, as your cherub faced boy ... will always here.