A waterfall of midnight, cascading and deep,
Where the secrets of moonlight and fragrances sleep.
Long hair like a river, in ripples it flows,
Tracing the path where the soft summer blows.
It dances in curtains, a silken disguise,
Hiding the laughter that dwells in the eyes.
A crown of tradition, a majestic display,
That catches the sun at the end of the day.
But look at the spirit of the short, cropped hair,
Floating so light in the wandering air.
A frame for the face, so bold and so bright,
Chasing the shadows and seeking the light.
It speaks of the modern, the chic, and the free,
As wild as the wind and as vast as the sea.
No weight to the shoulders, no chains to the soul,
Keeping the heart in its lively control.
Whether it's tresses that reach for the ground,
Where the grace of the ages is easily found.
Or the snip of the velvet, so sharp and so smart,
Each is a masterpiece, each is an art.
For beauty isn't measured in inches or length,
But in the confidence, spirit, and strength.