The White Hair

 My long pent-up poetic emotion emerged again this morning at a hairdresser's.

O young lady, you young lady of the distant land! Excuse me for addressing you as "young lady", for your name is still unknown to me.

It was probably on a spring evening. You cut my hair, shaved my face, gave me a shampoo and applied some vanishing cream.

Finally, in the mirror I saw you plucking out a white hair from my head while parting my hair.

O young lad, you young lady for the distant land, I have been leading a wandering life for another three years since I saw you last, but it is your feeling heart that has been the cause of my sustained youth.

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