A Little Sunday Poetry
Some poetry on a Sunday afternoon... Her Hair Ravens gestures spanned far and wide As she smiled and laughed Looking up at the ceiling with that far away look. The look that comes when thinking of an old friend Or a beloved dog Or some young ill advised escapade. She talked about her hair And the phases it went through And in turn, shared her life. Ravens hair was still a deep espresso-black and a statement. Yet, she, like most of us, couldn't help but express The power The love Of her hair. Funny how we put so much importance on a thing undoubtedly so small. A power and love that men will never really understand. Then again, maybe we don't either.