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For Love of Hair Jewels set in crown of gold, A thing of beauty to behold. Does not even close compare, Most prized of all, a head of hair. So innocent at journey�s start, The feathery-headed tender heart. Adorned with bows, bands and such, Then one kiss gives the perfect touch. Red, blue, and yellow color wheel, The artist then shapes a rooster tail. Giving way to pins and rings, A statement of rebellion brings. A watch is double-checked again, While carefully now the sculptors hand Gives shape with brush, wax and beads, One final touch, above the pleads! Those golden locks, so neatly spun, Give rise to the impassioned one. With heat and balanced chemistry, An angelic glimpse, beheld to see. The forest thins and the clearing spreads. This grower feeds the herbs and meds. Of the blight which arrives mid-course, He vainly strives to halt the source. Now winds of change are blowing in. So the shades of autumn frost begin. A reflection stares in disbelief, But coloring will surely halt the thief! Now laid bare, where once they stood. Old pictures prove the days were good Of crews and tales, shades and art, Mere islands now, a sea apart. Douglas Fletcher 3/09/01 |
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