Her hair was in a bun
French roll to be exact
Charcoal black
Smooth shiny
Like it was sealed with a coat if wax
Her eyes matched
The perfect accessory
Innocently placed
They sat suspended on a beautiful canvas
Accompanied by her nose
An arrow
That pointed him to her
Inviting smile
He was memorized by her presentation
Studying each stroke on the canvas
He fell in love with the work
Giving praise to the creator
He followed His work
Discovering that He had many renderings of the woman with the french roll
The face always the same
The hair style never changed
Yet the renderings were different
Upon closer look
He discovered
A strand of gray
As the works continued
Each one revealed another strand
Until the lone remaining strand was not gray but charcoal

Spiritual Sunglasses ’13


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