Snip, snip, snip sound the scissors
Music bounces off the mirrors
Silence interrupted by sporadic conversation
Hair drifting down to the ground
Strands of time's passing
A little girl becomes a young lady
Future's visions in her eyes
A middle aged woman glances at the mirror
Quickly averting her eyes
The reflection saddening her
Watching her daughter she remembers
Once she was the one with life's dreams ahead
Now she sits, overweight, tired eyes, skin marked by time's scars
Grey strands hidden under sculpted dye
When did she surrender to time's battle call?
Each scissor snip, painful questions of "Why?"
Now she patiently sits in Death's waiting room
Passing time
As the scissors quietly snip, snip, snip the years by
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