Highlights In Her Hair
While travelling in the train today,
I saw a pretty sight,
A teenage girl stood backing me,
Cloaked in pure sunlight.
The train was very crowded,
I know not what she wore,
But her long hair was like spun silk,
Like molten gold, it seemed to pour.
'Aha! ' I smugly smiled and thought,
'Someone's been busy at the spa;
She must have paid a fortune,
For highlights beyond par..'
And then she turned...and then I saw,
that she lived upon the street,
From her ragged dress and grimy face,
To her thin and poor barefeet.
Her pretty face was weary,
In the sun she worked for hours;
Her hair was streaked in golden waves,
Like the sun beams down on flowers.
No fancy spa could replicate,
those highlights in her hair;
For God created beauty,
is way beyond compare.
Comments about this poem (Highlights In Her Hair by Roann Mendriq )
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