When I heard the swish of the shears.
I watched him through till the task was done,
And gathered the severed curls.
Then clasped to my heart my plundered son—
Still more to me than worlds.
But he was no longer my baby now;
He seemed to have grown in years.
I kissed his cheeks and plundered brow,
And struggled with my tears.
And now in a little box I keep