She wore a scarf but not around her neck;
it nestled gypsy-like upon her head.
I looked but had to do a doublecheck —
the colour of her face filled me with dread.
Tressed and formerly flowing locks of hair
were chemically taken from her skull.
The tear-inducing fragrance of despair
my sunny day of joyfulness did cull.
But when I took a closer look at she
whose loveliness had still come shining through
my heart rejoiced at what there was to see:
A gorgeous princess then came into view.
For though some cells within were broken-down
that scarf she wore on top was like a crown.
© 2012, Alan Morrison