Early
Reading edition
like to lie and wait, to see My Mother braid her hair. It is as long as it can be, And yet she doesn't care. I love my Mother's hair. And then the way her fingers go; They look so quick and white,— In and out, and to and fro, And braiding in the light; And it is always right. So then she winds it, shiny brown, Around her head into a crown, Just like the day before. And then she looks, and pats it down, And looks, a minute more.— While I stay here, all still and cool. Oh, isn't Morning beautiful?
