For when I pause and look upon the strands
That stand and sit and sometimes dance;
They pass through my mind, these images:
The mane of lions who've never seen cages
(Of course for them that's been the norm).
Like a hut that stood the winds of a storm
Blown to the north, south, east and west-
The shapes does put patience to test!
And when I fight with comb and brush
A garden full of weed still seems lush.
With each passing day, the care and groom
Just make them look more like a broom.
But then my pretty friend is full of woes,
Her locks of curls keep her on her toes.
Straight is a shape they do not heed
Sizzle and smoke, they do not need.
And when she fights with comb and brush
She praises the bush for she thinks its lush
Oh why is it that we do complain
Is hair indeed nothing but pain?
4 comments:
Wunnerful it is!!! just that even I agree with your dear friend. Your so called 'bush' is in actuality lush which many crave to have but few manage to!
Dedicated to all the mornings Polo and I spend in front of the mirror :)
Oh man! As usual I see this long long after you posted it! tooo good :) Its us in the morning to the T
Bloody adorable, S. And I love the picture in the post too :)
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