Old women awing; touching your hair
All you can do is bare it and glare.
What they say could be true,
A redheads temper can brew.
The anger inside bubbles and boils,
Trying your best to quickly recoil.
The hair on your head is natural to you,
Others see it as something foreign and new.
It's almost taboo.
Constantly standing out in the crowd,
You never have to be loud.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem