Her Hair The farmer’s daughter was so beautiful Her father locked her door at night To keep the hands he hired From touching her. But one night She tied her long hair to the bedpost And climbed down it, then cut it Close to the scalp. She lives in the city now. Her hair still hangs there, Bright blonde against the brick, Fanning out when there’s wind. They say her father can’t bear to cut it.
Her Hair
Her Hair
Her Hair
Her Hair The farmer’s daughter was so beautiful Her father locked her door at night To keep the hands he hired From touching her. But one night She tied her long hair to the bedpost And climbed down it, then cut it Close to the scalp. She lives in the city now. Her hair still hangs there, Bright blonde against the brick, Fanning out when there’s wind. They say her father can’t bear to cut it.