African black
and shine like the sun.
A beautiful jewel upon
her head.
It is said by me every strand
is priceless.
As it lie's down on her back
she never pin it up.
No need for difference
it would be more natural to stay.
I know the wind love running thru it
as well as my hands.
From her ends to her splits
cutting her hair would be a risk.
The definition of silk.
The vitamins in milk.
The soft tecture and the smell
of a herb.
Describing her hair in different words.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem