Goes to the sound of Amelie,
Piano rhyming while striding.
Scent of freshly baked croissant,
Sun shining from balcony flowers.
Hazel hair smiles at everyone,
Catching every word.
Nudges you under the rib,
Finds out your deepest secret.
Hazel hair skips down the road,
Greets kid, granny and Johnny.
Bright dress pretentious in the wind,
Turns shadows to bright green.
Hazel hair laughs at English joke,
Pretends to be grumpy old guy.
Swings to the tune of Amelie,
Dances with a French dress.
Hazel hair draws from a cigarette,
Side-look and mischievous smile.
Meaningful, funny, silly conversation,
Twists and chews her hair.
Hazel hair gazes into darkness,
Wearing blue dress.
I want to gladden her,
But I do not have a steed.
Golden hair collects pictures,
They sadden her but she must.
Looks down on her fingers,
To reveal a mutual secret.
Golden hair waves her dress,
Vibing to the old music.
Listens to the broken carefully,
Gives kind word but not to self.
Yellow dress walks gracefully,
Shinning in the evening sun.
Bright dress pretentiously glistens,
Soft voice although foreign.
Yellow dress smiles around,
bottomless blue-green eyes.
Sips coffee, chuckles, swears softly,
Recites classics my favourites.
The sun just smiles all the time,
The warmth radiates melting hearts.
Curious about the weirdest things,
Gives worth to everything.
The sun kneels to the tree,
Smells its ancient life within.
Takes matters to her hands.
Eyes but reveal need growing.
Crooked smile of many faces,
Brings joy to the darkest places.
Curls her lips and eyebrow,
To the most incredible poses.
Crooked smile keeps sad secrets,
Is she even different from hazel hair?
I thought I was looking at crooked smile,
But all I saw was hazel hair.
Golden hair reminds Hazel hair,
Yellow dress reminds Hazel hair.
Sun reminds Hazel hair,
Crooked smile reminds Hazel hair.
She has her blue eyes,
Not quite like it.
She has her hazel hair,
Not quite like it.
She has her warm laugh,
Not quite like it.
She has her birthmark,
Not quite like it.
She has her listening,
Not quite like it.
She has her facial features,
Not quite like it.
She has her bright dress,
Not quite like it.
She has her acting.
Not quite like it.
Four seasons sweep the country,
Reminiscing every feature.
The features do not bear the love,
Hazel hair does…