Haircut Epithalamium

Conspicuously missing
My old bones
Couldn't quite get
To my son’s wedding However as the occasional
Soothsayer I knew
The nuptials were certain
And began to compose
My intended epithalamium
The summer before

The augury wasn't a predictable
Demonstration of courtship
It wasn't when
They stole morsels
From each other's plates
It wasn't when
They curled up on
The couch as young
Lovers are wont to do
Forming that single multi-
Limbed mythical creature

It was a haircut
She sat him in
A chair in the yard
And draped a towel
Around his shoulders
My son bowed his head
Blissfully a boy again
Surrendering to her scissors
Her precise decisions