The Girl Whose Hair Turned to Flowers

Once upon midnight rhyme

There was a girl whose hair turned to flowers

So come and listen to the story of mine

Of why princesses should stay in their towers

Our young maiden awoke one day to discover

That her earthen brown locks had grown into petals

The blossoms tumbled from her scalp to her shoulders

In every species and color imaginable

Marigolds and honeysuckle and carnations

With roses and periwinkle and peonies

All framed her face in sublimation

Alongside hydrangea and orchids and daisies

What was a girl to do but move along with her day?

So that when she descended the stairs, she gave her father quite the fright

And out of all the things that he could say,

He exclaimed, “My god, what a sight!”

His first thought was to bring her to a doctor and see if she was alright

But he had a quota to meet, and she had classes to attend

So from behind her ear he plucked a small bunch of aconite

And with some breakfast, on her way to school she was sent

Irises and lilies and dahlia

Distracted her classmates with steady whispers

Along with and tulips and daffodil and azalea

Causing the boys in class to idle and dither 

Never before could the girl be accused of beauty

But with the transformation of dirt to all types of flora

Suddenly she caught the eyes of all who could see

Sparking admiration, jealousy, affection and everything more-a

Such that on her way home from such a strange and tumultuous day

Young and old and in between all stopped and stared

At the young girl whose hair turned into its own bouquet

But there was one man who would come far too much to care

He saw the crocus and begonia and yarrow

The swathes of baby’s breath that turned her head into a nosegay

And he swore to himself that if tomorrow

He saw those flowers again, he would steal them away

The girls whose hair turned to flowers

Continued on her merry way, determined to live her life

To evil plots and wicked men, none the wiser

Despite anything else, she would grow up, get a job, become a wife

So that when she walked home from school the next afternoon

Her sight was blinded by visions of the future

She didn’t notice the man beside her until he stopped and crooned,

“Why, my dear, is there no ailment your beauty could not cure?”

“That’s kind of you to say,” the girl said meekly,

Quickening her pace, though the man did likewise

And he reached out and caressed her head sweetly

Ignoring her wince when he plucked away a bird of paradise

“What’s the hurry, my dear?” the man questioned

“Why don’t you come with me, and I can help you with your hair?”

But the girl knew better than to listen

She broke into a run, trying to get far away from there

She never stood a chance of escaping the man

And when he caught her, he grabbed her and wrestled her down

Tearing out fistfuls of her flowers, hand over hand

Stealing every trace of her beauty right there in the middle of town

Snapdragon and hyacinth and geranium

Fell in bloody clumps around the pair

Beside edelweiss and dandelions and chrysanthemum 

And when the man had taken all he could, he left without care for how the girl fared

The girl was slow to pick herself up

But when she finally did, she trudged her way back home

Bleeding from her scalp and barren on her top

And suddenly the future she dreamed of felt like a tomb

The girl whose hair turned to flowers

Had hair and flowers no more

But she would not let the tragedy take away her power

So that when she woke up the next morning, her head was crowned with thorns.