Her brown hair woven with strands of gold and auburn lights is a sweet autumnal hymn.
The depth of hues in brown hair is as the finest cathedral choir, perfect pitch coming together in soul-warming symphony.
Brown hair in the sunlight, be it preened or in a mess, whatever the day of the week, it is my soul's Sunday best.
Brown hair is my hearth, the place my eyes rest and feel such radiant glow, for the memories of such many hued strands is my happy place.
There was a warmth her brown hair brought to her features, a simple frame for that smile and eyes that held more love than she would ever admit to. The hue altered as the strands curled and moved, as free as autumn leaves playing in the dayshine.
Her hair was the brown of aged mahogany, rich and deep, yet with the subtle hues only time brings. With each stride the strands tumbled, reflecting the strengthening daylight in waves.
Her hair was as waves of pure earth, softly reflecting the light of the sun; each strand moving freely in an ocean born breeze, a compliment to her stillness. With eyes of river waters, in glossy serenity, her aura seeped into the summer air between us. And in that moment, in that fraction of time, her smile was in every God given feature, and I knew I was home.
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