His hair had grown long over the summer,

While they were apart,

I’m curious if she still thinks of him or now another,

Still the perfect work of art.

Or does she hide away at the mention of his name,

Has she grown up with age,

And realized this unpredictable and abstruse game,

Or is there still mystery she cannot gage.

Oh dear friend I thought of you,

When this man rode the same carriage as me,

Wondering if feelings still were true,

Naturally confusing as they can be,

How strange the way infatuation becomes you,

And many one of us who knows it too,

Can a hairstyle really change the way we feel?