Good morning, whoever you might be.
My name is Harriet, servient to thee.
Pray I you're patient, for you see
Lately I have been… haughty.
"Glorious!" people would squee
Of my hair as dark as ebony.
But befell on it was quite a tragedy
That had made me very haughty.
Before, I basked in its beauty
Proud on its flamboyancy
Till too long, it became for me
Making people quite haughty.
Down it went, from my back to knees
Then to the floor, in just two weeks!
The longer it went, the more I shed tears
For in their eyes, I am a freak.
I took a blade and cut it clean
Leaving just black sheet on my skin
Yet this mane betrayed me still
For it grew wild like wheat on field!
I then sought for solitary
To keep myself from despondency;
A dark room was what held me
From traitors who were so… haughty.
AN: This is my first time writing poetry to tell a story… sorta. I'm really trying my best to veer this to what I want to happen. I hope you enjoy!