Amrita, and her Hair
Her parents deemed her of ambrosial* quality.
Black wires grow on her head+
For which their is little accountability.
Her pater is to blame for its heredity.
His sister, her aunt, for its similarity.
Please she never could her esteemed community.
Whose Devi she resembled in the shape of her mane
But, likeness did not save her from people’s disdain.
“Why care you, child?” said the Goddess in Yodaen** syntax
Your people are proud but their sense of fashion is lax.
Not I, I said, Goddess Divine
I do my best, with your grace, by every scrap I find.
These wires though are impossible to mind.
Harder to tame than the lion you bestride.
I have accepted their unwillingness to bend
To obey rule or care for tend
No egg honey mask can disguise the task
Of Teezing these Tangles
But, I’m glad…
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