Her pony tail comes arcing out
Like water spurting from a spout.
When her head turns to the left,
On her shoulder right it rests;
When she turns back to midline,
It gently touches on her spine.
She walks away, her footstep fades;
It swishes 'twixt her shoulder blades.

Monday:

Pulled back tight on crown and temples
Gleaming like gold plate
Banded low in back then streaming
Like a comet's tail.

Tuesday:

In front its all swept towards the back,
In back, drawn up part way
In a monster clip it meets
Exploding in a spray.

Wednesday:

Silky, long and smooth,
Like a spider's web:
She swirls it up into a bun,
Before she goes to bed.

Thursday:

In front, the bangs spill o're her brow,
And her forehead hide;
In back, a lengthy braid runs down,
With velvet ribbons tied.

Friday:

Her hair flew up out the vent like a flame,
And we hit an unmarked bump (not big);
When the top slid shut, her hair almost caught,
So I reached up and pulled it in quick.

Saturday:

Ironed, flattened, straight,
Long and raven black
Dark and cool like evening
Flowing down her back.

Sunday:

Of her black hair a single strand,
Sweeter than Midnight's darkest land;
Then like sunrise on the beach,
When it lightens up again.