Gyroscope Review 15-3 - Page 31

Long Lost by Oonah Joslin My mother tugged and teased the gold holding tight at the roots; a long and tedious weekly ritual wash and dry and brush and brush to tame the lion in its wild state, plait and bind in blue ribbons, restrain the exuberant excesses of tresses. Such crowns as are fitting only for princesses. Once in a while we were allowed to swirl in wind, twirl and turn and tat; to find the fling of momentary freedom my hair and I but what’s the point of that? Gold is for spending. The child refusing to be tied severed her locks. Thus the scissored Samson saw his folly fall to the floor. Every tether and freedom is a parable of plaits.
 Gyroscope Review 2! 2