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Michaela’s hair was solid black,
As black as ebony,
Just like the night in starless skies,
A sable symphony
“Her hair was black when she was born,”
Michaela’s mother said,
“With wisps of raven-colored threads
Atop her tiny head.”
Michaela, as a little girl,
Had pigtails black as dye,
And when the lads would tug on them,
She’d give them a black eye.
While in her teens, her inky locks
Went streaming out behind her.
“They look just like your horse’s tail,”
Her daddy would remind her.
And when a woman she became,
In high heels and long dresses,
A red-haired Viking fell for her
And for her raven tresses.
Their home was blessed by family,
Three darling baby girls.
They all looked like their mama with
Their glossy coal-black curls.
Then one day, when her girls grew up,
Michaela felt dismay;
She saw some silver ‘mid the black,
And feared that she’d go gray.
Too soon her hair was frosted like
A deep dark choc’lit cake.
Michaela stopped at Beauty Shop;
She’d had all she could take.
Michaela’s hair is black once more,
As black as ebony,
Just like the night in starless skies,
A sable symphony.
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