Total weirdness.  That’s what this little poem is.  Basically, I had writer’s block, and my sister Annetta ordered me to write.  When I asked sarcastically what the topic should be, she answered, quite seriously, “My braid.”  And so I did.  Written when I was about fourteen.

Annetta’s Braid is thick and wide.
She never seems to be able to hide
The width of it, or the color brown
Which can be seen all over town.

Everyone stops—everyone stares—
All look at the creature which unawares
Has come upon the village in the dead of night
And given the people all a bad fright.

But wait!  What’s that there?
It appears to be a strand of hair.
The creature is really Annetta’s Braid,
This thing which made all the people afraid.

It’s twenty miles thick and forty miles long,
And heard about in many a song.
The days are over when Neta’s Braid Rover
Roamed the Earth through fields of clover.

A hunter’s son came hither from there
And chopped that mighty Braid of hair.
Annetta cried for days on end:
She’d lost her buddy, her pal, her friend.

Now she has a braid of more moderate size
And she never ever cries
Over her forgotten Braid named Rover,
Who once roamed the Earth through fields of clover.