They say that hair is beautiful,
they say that it's divine.
I say that it is relative,
have you looked at mine?
They say hair can be a keepsake,
for loved ones you have lost.
I say it's the first thing you choose to lose,
when you pay heartache's first cost.
They say that hair is lovely,
it frames the face within.
I say it blocks the lights,
hiding that wicked grin.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem