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She is an object
Of affection for all men you see,
Who look at her
And see endless hope
For love and affection,
But, don't feel her pain,
Or, her endless years of
False hope and rejection.
She's a model, a mother,
An actress and pawn,
An object of millions of jokes,
By her hair color,
Of a life gone all wrong.
She wakes, she cleans,
She is full of worry and care.
Eyes of strangers,
Follow her everywhere.
Thinking that she's a goddess
And that she's lighter than air.
But, really she is full of
Courage and strenght,
Because all she has to do
Is change the color of her hair,
So that, with a different color,
No one will really care.
But, she is full of blond ambition,
Which , she can't change, it's her tradition.
So, life will follow her everyday,
Until her blond hair turns...
Stately gray.
Breaking hearts along the way,
And doing her best to enjoy her day.
That a girl, I say.
As I dream of being with her,
Everyday.
I am a man,
What can I say?
------
Ronald Peter Ciras
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Finding home.
