Orange, auburn, burnt sienna,
amber, golden, burnished henna,
parallel strains of lustrous flair --
those shimmering strands of D. Hooley's hair!
Five or six I was, when I noticed the shine,
stripes swinging in tandem, uniformity divine;
for nary a hair ever swung out of place,
all swishing together above D. Hooley's face.
No wallflower was he, but an agile sprite
with freckles galore sprinkled brown and bright;
and that hair, it flicked this way and that like a flame
as he cruised 'cross the playground to sprinting fame,
while the girls blushed in awe of the mischievous Hooley --
myself for his hair which was never unruly.
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