The Taming of the 'Do
You come to me, all pouty-faced.Your curls are all askew.A brush is dangling in the messof summer's sticky dew.The straight smooth hair of older sishas captured all of your thoughts.You beg me with your eyes of blueto tame your curly locks.Reluctantly I plug it inand expectantly you wait.This magical black instrumentwill change your curly fate.As Mama works methodically,your legs bounce up and down.It's hard to be so patientin your change to princess from clown.And when she is done, to the…See More

