Brushing Her Hair.

   Well, it's hard,
   And we fight every time.
   But after a hundred attempts
   I've gotten--well, not good,
   Exactly, but sufficient.
   Suffice it to say
   That I've learned lessons.
   One, be gentle.
   Two, go slow.
   Three, be quiet.
   If I listen she'll talk.
   Tonight it was crows and boys.
   Wednesday it was noses.
   Saturday it was pain.
   I could listen to her all day,
   But she's in a hurry
   To write in her diary
   So I finish as slowly
   As I can and she runs
   Upstairs and I stand there
   For a moment, reluctant
   To leave this wet chapel.