Like a tree shade,
it sits on my head.
Like a healthy vineyard,
are it's branches.
Like the tap root,
Is it in length.
As black as charcoal,
It's colour defined.
As curly as the creeping passion,
Is it's texture
How perfect He designed.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoetryThe contradictory life we were born and still live in and it's mysterious frustrations but picking the good is worth living for
