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.