Oh, what a web she weaves
Within her natural curls.
Frazzled spectators
Resist the temptation to
Touch, the urge to caress.
Her wind-loved hair is
Her tiara, an ancestral
Heirloom; handed down
Through centuries, beginning
When beauty was found
Reflected in the waters of
The Euphrates and the Nile.
Touch her, if you dare,
And she just might
Let you run your fingers
Through her cocoa-colored crown.
By A. Jarrell Hayes
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