Her hair was not red
For red was too angry
Not like this girl
Calm and cheerful

Her hair was the colour
Of crisp autumn leaves
Spiralling delicately
As they float on the breeze

Her hair was like lighting
A small open fire
A flickering flame of contentment
Coloured of fierce protection

Her hair was of spirals
Neat ringlets of warmth
So delicate, so wild
So free


Her hair was but one feature
Of her loveliness.
But always was it
The first to be acknowledged


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