Ariadne, Year 5Brighton-le-Sands Public School
His HairHe woke up at 7 o’clockBefore anyone else,He’d brush and fuss with his hairWas he embarrassed?
Or did he just like brushing his hair?No one knowsHis hair was like gold, like the sunSoft like a pillow, curly like a pig’s tailRelaxing at home he’d leave it outBut when he’d play his guitar in front of the crowdHe would tie it back and look proudI have a lock of his hair that I keep closeTo remind me of himMy Father, My dad, My musician.
By Ariadne
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