She watched her combing the girl's hair
And thought back fifty years
To when her own mother stood combing hers.
She felt the pleasant tugging
The warm hands touching the neck
Saw the smile on their faces in the mirror.
How she longed to have her own combed
With the same love she saw the girl receiving,
But she was old and had no one —
So she became that girl she was watching
For one wondrous moment
Until her mother had finished.