Circle our lips with gold, bright as sunflowers
Our hair grows white, buried under furs & pelts
Northern wind, ice crystals, seeds of darkness
Drift by quickly, our hands are teal with frost
Watching night sky slow dance with balding moon
~0~0~
strand by strand
feathers & hair entwine for a lass
more than a wig, a face to raise her voice:
begone from whitening my limbs,
fever & scourge, begone !
Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Two "hair" poems ~ hosted by Anthony Desmond ~
Picture credit: here
