In the gentle dance of morning light,Threads of gold and ebony take flight,Each strand a story, whispered and spun,A tapestry woven under the sun.Through windswept fields and verdant glades,Locks untangle, the past slowly fades,The rustle of leaves, a soft lullaby,As hair sways to the melody of the sky.In the embrace of a lover’s gaze,Silken tendrils in tender displays,Each curl a secret, a promise untold,In the language of love, so bold.Yet in the quiet of the moonlit night,Hair rests, bathed in silver light,A gentle reminder of fleeting time,A crown of beauty, sublime.