Her beauty cascades like waterfalls,
in blooming waves of curls upon her back.
Hair, black as night, bouncing to the beat of her soul.
She was the kind of 'different' beauty,
they never taught us to love in school.
So we burned the textbooks,
and I watched her plaid skirts and hair,
surf the waves of the wind,
and neither of us looked back,
as we ran from it all.