"Behind Her Hair"

She hides behind her hair;
Those locks of lavender.
And when she’s peeking through, I stare
To try and fathom her.

I think her tresses laugh,
Festooning as a guise;
And as I often cross her path
My wit must improvise.

Sometimes she comes around,
And lifts her head to me.
Beneath romantic black, she bounds
As active curls agree.

I meet attractive looks,
And find her honest gaze.
Though I’ve become a fool for hooks
I’m cautious anyways.

Her pendent hair adorns
The fairness in her cheeks
And when the wisps of wind blow round
She’s swept in swirling streaks.

I make an orison—
With unpretentious mood,
That God might find my petition
Is more than platitude.

Her lips vouchsafe a curl;
Her brow is underneath.
Now I have met a furtive girl,
Who takes away my breath.