Barbershop Tragedy

The cutting of hair is a horrid thing

No longer will the estranged locks shine

The scent of shampoo still lingers

As shears caress the fine wisps

Kissing them softly goodbye

Wisps of copper float softly down

Beckoning for the shears to follow suit

The shears bow to the fine locks

The fine locks bow to the shears

The game begins again