Oh what have you done to your lovely hair,
streaking with insult those glorious strands ?
Of God-given beauty so unaware
that you've put it to death by other's hands.

Tinted with sorrow in a dying fall:
your sultry darks exchanged for tainted blonde—
a chemical crown, clueless overhaul;
false gold, a dull glory now gone beyond.

Liberate your lustrous locks, set them free
to gather grace and claim their natural right
as God ordained; thus you were meant to be.
But lightening streaks do terrify the night.