Plaiting her hair at the end of each day
a soothing ritual she likes to play.
The smoothness of her hair like silk
is twined by fingers the color of milk.
A flower she sometimes weaves so gay
Absentmindedly brushing aside a stray
Her mind is distracted with thoughts she weighs
so she clears her wits from this type of ilk,
Plaiting her hair
Her life is fair in her grand chalet,
passing time with the art of crochet,
and wearing the most luxurious silk,
yet stifled she feels and ready to bilk.
Sometimes it’s hard to hide her dismay,
Plaiting her hair
Join us today at dVerse Poets where I’m hosting Open Link Night: http://dversepoets.com/2015/10/15/dverse-poets-open-link-night-158/#comment-101700