In the quiet of morning’s embrace, A lone hair dreams of its missed place. Once it swayed where comrades rest, Now adrift, on a lonesome quest. Where brothers danced in gentle grace, Deep below in their secret space, This rogue hair longs for that warm tide, Where heartbeats thrum and hopes reside. Yet severed from its cherished strand, It floats across a foreign land, Wishing to join the timeless ride, Where currents of life race inside. Though severed from the core’s bright gleam, It clings to whispers of the dream. In tender winds it softly sways, Yearning for those old, golden days.